


Obiter Dicta

by manic_intent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, M/M, Mirror Universe, NOTE: MOST OF THIS FIC IS T-RATED, Priest Castiel, Priest Kink, Warning: Author is agnostic leaning close to atheism, You Have Been Warned, alternative universe, bottom!Castiel, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Dean is the angel and Castiel is a hunter.  Father Castiel Novak of the Vatican's 23rd 'Huntsmen' Division knows that he belongs in Hell.  He isn't entirely sure what to make of the angel that pulled him out of it, or his increasingly dysfunctional fellow operatives, or the fact that it seems that he's accidentally kick-started the apocalypse.  It's going to take more than prayer and salt rounds to fix up this particular mess-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here I am indulging in another one of my favourite Supernatural tropes... priest!kink. :/
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Author is an agnostic leaning towards atheism, so, this fic contains blasphemy, religious irreverence, etc. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Don't like, don't read.

I.

By the time Balthazar was done, Castiel was drenched, salted, and bleeding from a silver dagger-induced wound on his palm. "Satisﬁed, brother?"

Balthazar warily lowered the shotgun. "Assuming - and this is a very big assumption - that you're not a new sort of ghoul, or a zombie, or some sort of early morning caffeine-related hallucination... what the hell, Cassy?"

"Can I change my clothes ﬁrst?"

"No. Talk." Balthazar scowled, clearly still suspicious. "And no sudden moves."

Then again, Balthazar had always had a streak of paranoia wide enough for three operatives combined; even when he had just been ordained into the 23rd Division, he had been widely known - and teased - for his tendency to salt doorways and hide hex bags, even in the middle of the City under the City.

"Fine," Castiel rubbed at his eyes, even as his cassock began to stick to his shoulders and his palm began to sting like the blazes. "I don't know why I'm back. But whatever happened... I woke up in a _grave_ , Balthazar. I had to _dig my way out_. And around me? An entire forest had been ﬂattened. It looked as though-"

"Like something big had crawled out before you," Balthazar ﬁnished grimly. "Also, we _cremated you_. Sent your ashes back to the City. There shouldn't have been anything left of you to crawl back out from, let alone in this bit of the world."

"Yes. I'm aware of that. And I'm also hungry, and thirsty, and I'll really like to have a shower now, thank you, before we think about what to do next."

Castiel cast a critical eye around the Vatican 23rd Division's Falls Church office, taking in the disarray of papers piled over what used to be his desk, the cracked frame of the ﬁrst page of the Catechism that was now propped against his chair, the dusty haze obvious in the slats of light from the half-shuttered windows that indicated a painful lack of vacuuming, and most of all, the accusingly pristine desk down the end next to the coffee machine and the map.

"Where's Anna?"

Balthazar set the shotgun back on his desk, and slouched back into his chair. Coffee cups containing stained dregs in various degrees of fossilisation littered the surface, the window sill, and the bookshelf, and the usually fastidiously tidy operative looked rumpled, dark rings circled under his eyes. "She lit off over to Chicago. Hasn't been heard of since."

"When?"

"Five months ago." Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "We had a bit of a spat. Over, come to think of it, engaging possibly less-than-permitted methods of retrieving you from Hell."

"Heaven... and you let her _leave_?"

"You don't 'let' Anna do anything, remember?" Balthazar dropped the air quotes with a heavy drawl and a twitch of his ﬁngers. "She nearly skinned me when I tried. And I tried."

"We need to ﬁnd Anna." Sister Anna had always been rash. Brilliant tactically, and ferocious with both knife and pistol, but impulsive and occasionally prone to making the worst decisions. "Do you have a way of contacting her?" 

"I'll try to call her." Balthazar drew his phone out of his jeans, and snorted when Castiel frowned at him disapprovingly. "Sorry that I wasn't collared up, Cassy. I wasn't exactly expecting visitors. And especially not people who should really still be dead. Not that I'm not happy that you're out of Hell."

"I... yes, I suppose." Castiel shook his head slowly. "It is good to see you again, Balthazar. And I forgive you for trying to kill me just now."

"I didn't say that I was sorry about _that_ bit," Balthazar shot back, though he smirked as he started to thumb through his contacts list.

Another shock awaited Castiel in the shower - when he stripped off his clothes, he realized to his astonished horror that there was a brand of a handprint on his left shoulder. It seemed to tingle when he pressed his ﬁngers to it, but it didn't hurt, and the print of the hand was slightly larger than Castiel's, with longer, tapered ﬁngers, curled over his bicep.

Other than the brand - all the rest of his scars were gone, even the faint, pale white lines over his right bicep from the fencing accident back in the seminary, when he had been only a second year initiate at the City under the City. Stunned and a little frightened, Castiel turned the shower tap in a daze and dragged his eyes away from the mirror, his breath heaving out in a shallow, stuttered gasp. None of it made _sense_. Why had he been saved? Had it been monstrous coincidence? And what had saved him?

Still, Castiel felt worlds better after a hot shower and a change of clothes: at least Anna, or Balthazar maybe, had been sentimental enough to keep his things more or less in their usual positions, although his part of the wardrobe had been partially invaded by Balthazar's jackets and there was a new poster of a child sitting on a small dog that had been taped to the door, likely a product of Balthazar's obscure sense of humour. His books were still in place, but his personal effects, like the bracelet gift from a little girl they had rescued from a nest of skinwalkers years ago, and his rosary, were all boxed neatly in a corner of the wardrobe, likely Anna's work.

It was a little unsettling to realize that the others had moved on, that he had been buried, _mourned_.

Balthazar was already packed and properly attired with his collar when he returned to their shared office; a small bag for clothes, a larger one for weapons, and he looked grim. "Guess who's been sticking her ﬁngers into things she shouldn't have."

"You contacted her?" Castiel's heart sank. If Anna had made a crossroads deal, or worse-

"I didn't, but I did some snooping, and our darling little redhead's been going through all the nasty little circles." Balthazar looked weary. "Buying up things that she shouldn't be buying. Shouldn't have let her out of my sight." 

"You couldn't have stopped her, once she made up her mind," Castiel reminded him quietly. "We need to ﬁnd her immediately. Undo whatever she has done."

Balthazar opened his mouth, then caught Castiel's determined stare and closed it again. The other operative hesitated for a moment, then he set his jaw and stepped over, enveloping Castiel in a tight hug, slapping at his back hard enough that Castiel flinched and yelped from pain, then he tousled his hair and pulled back before Castiel could react, and looked away quickly, blinking hard. "Christ. It's really good to see you."

"Don't blaspheme," Castiel rebuked him automatically, and caught a quick flash of a grin.

"I even missed _that_ , you uptight little sod. Right. Chicago."

II.

As it turned out, ﬁnding Anna was the easy part: as usual, they just needed to ﬁnd the bit of Chicago that was on ﬁre. Anna was standing at a safe distance outside a ﬂaming warehouse, a crossbow in her hands and the quiver slung over her hip, and she whirled when Balthazar and Castiel got out of Balthazar's red 1960 Austin Healey, and some shred of a survival instinct made Castiel duck instinctively.

The crossbow bolt shuddered to a stop in the fence behind the car, and Balthazar yelped, " _Anna_!"

"Castiel is _dead_." Anna narrowed her eyes, stalking over, oblivious to how her fellow operatives automatically shuffled back against the car. Anna was dressed 'incognito', as Balthazar liked to put it, in a white shirt, bomber jacket and black jeans, but then again, Anna had never quite been one for habits. "What is this?" 

"Was hoping that you'd tell us, darling," Balthazar retorted, even as he tried to edge behind Castiel. Father Balthazar had always been a little afraid of Sister Anna, even after all the time they'd spent hunting. "I've been hearing things about the company you've been keeping, and now Castiel's back, a hundred per cent human, just as annoyingly self-righteous as ever. Made any crossroads deals lately?"

"Watch what you're saying, Balthazar," Anna glowered at him, though she blinked, slowly, then her lip trembled, her eyes welled wet, to Castiel's sheer embarrassment, and she lowered her crossbow, stepping over in a rush to hug Castiel tightly, ﬁngers curling sharply into his cassock as she let out a soft, choked sound.

"She didn't try to salt and burn me," Castiel told Balthazar accusingly, though he gingerly hugged Anna back, patting her shoulder. "I'm happy to see you too, Anna."

"I ﬁgured that if Balthazar's satisﬁed, then anyone would be," Anna admitted. "Sorry about the crossbow. I was startled. Nerves."

" _And_ apologized for trying to kill me," Castiel added.

Balthazar sniffed. "I'm still not sorry. But moving on. If it wasn't you, Anna, who was it?"

Anna's expression froze for a moment, then she pulled back, nibbling on her lower lip, looking away, back at the burning warehouse, then at her feet, and ﬁnally, she exhaled loudly. "All right, ﬁne. Maybe I made some enquiries. Did some experiments. But nothing worked. And no, I didn't make any crossroads deals. I just dug up the old archive that the 23rd locked up in Chicago and did some reading."

"That archive was locked up for a reason, Anna," Castiel groaned, even as Balthazar pressed his palm against his face.

"I didn't read the copy of the Black Book, if that's what you're implying," Anna glared at him. "I just... I think it's better if I showed you."

Anna had rented out a disused, small metalworking factory, the walls still bared brick, old wiring in loose, looped cables from the drafty ceiling. Sigils covered the walls and the ceiling, all painstakingly painted in Anna's steady hand, and old books had been kept in a locked, pressure-sealed cabinet set up against the wall. An armoury of weapons covered a long workbench opposite it, and another bench was ﬁlled with stacks of neat notes and scribbles. Near the end, a square partially cordoned off by a cloth screen showed a sliver of a small cot and a washbasin.

"The 23rd keeps its oldest records in the archive," Anna padded over to the workbench papered with notes. "Some dating back from the time of the Great Flood."

"I'm aware of that," Castiel noted warily, even as Balthazar cast an eye over the probably illegally-obtained weaponry with a low whistle.

"Then you're also aware that angels exist."

"Yes. I've read some of the old scriptures and catechisms in the Great Library and came to that conclusion. But they usually do not interfere directly with human matters. Anna. What did you do?"

"I know better than to make deals with demons," Anna folded her arms across her chest defensively, "But the catechisms said nothing about angels."

Balthazar looked up sharply from the weapons table. "You summoned a _what_?"

"I thought that it didn't work. Nothing happened. I tried a few times, at that. Used a lot of materials, some of which were remarkably difficult to acquire." Anna smiled slowly, warmly. "I guess I was wrong. I'm so happy to see you again, Castiel."

"No, no, no," Balthazar threw up his hands. "You can't just summon _angels_ like a demon! Besides, I've never heard of them interfering like this before. You probably lit on something totally different and very _bad_. Cassy here woke up at the centre of a wide-scale deforestation. Angels wouldn't do that." 

"And how would you know?" Anna scowled at Balthazar. "How else would you explain this?" She gestured broadly in Castiel's direction. "Castiel is alive, and the same as ever. And no one's had to make any deals. I never even got past the summoning part of the process to the _asking_ part."

"Whether you summoned an angel or not," Castiel interjected quickly, as both operatives bristled, "You should not have done this, Anna. This is not natural. There is an order to things. All people must die. That is God's will."

"And what part of your death was natural?" Anna shot back. "Eaten alive by hellhounds? Dragged down into Hell when you should have ascended to Heaven?"

"Natural or not, I died." Castiel replied calmly. "You should not have brought me back."

"Somehow, I expected gratitude for your second chance. Not a lecture," Anna closed one of the books on the workbench, her ﬁngers jerky and sharp like her tone. "But I guess that I should have known."

"Anna..."

"Those are the notes that I used," Anna pointed at a stack of crabbed scribbles on a stool beside the workbench. "Help yourselves. I'm going hunting."

"Anna, _wait_ -" Castiel tried again, but Anna had already stalked out of the factory in one of her ﬁne tempers; the sort that tended to get well-meaning interlopers mauled or shot if they tried to come close. He sighed, even as Balthazar visibly deﬂated in his peripheral vision.

"She's even scarier than bloody ever."

"Help me with those," Castiel muttered, jerking a thumb at the notes. He hadn't meant to seem ungrateful. Anna had only had the best of intentions, and Castiel _did_ like being alive again. "We need to ﬁnd out what worked and what didn't."

"Latin's not my strong point, old boy," Balthazar reminded him, though he lifted the notes onto the workbench even as Castiel carefully cleared a space. "By the way, what was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Hell, Cassy." Balthazar had said that offhandedly, but Castiel knew that the other operative was watching him carefully. Along with his paranoia, Balthazar's mind was always razor sharp.

"I don't remember. Not really," Castiel forced his voice steady. "It was cold."

III.

When they ﬁnally called it a day, none the wiser, Balthazar took the couch in the warehouse and Castiel the ripped old armchair with the suspicious pockmarks that smelled like gunmetal. Anna had calmed down enough to feed them, albeit by clear afterthought in the form of ﬂagrantly oily Chinese take-out, and perched by a laptop for the rest of the night, ignoring them, apparently researching a rash of poltergeist problems a few hours' drive south.

Whatever she had used, it could have been anything in the set of priceless, ancient scrolls, but Castiel suspected that they were from the Red Sea set, the scrolls of old animal skins that contained words transcribed from a language that did not sound remotely human, all sharp, unpronounceable consonants. 'Enochian', the language had been named; the skins were the ﬁrst draft of the Book of Enoch, far removed from its current form. Trying to understand it had been an exercise in frustration.

Castiel closed his eyes-

The Hollow Rooms smelled always of copper-bright blood, viscera, and the bursting rot of ruptured intestines, and it was cold, like the back of a butcher shop, cold enough that it had sunk right through to his bones. He stood on a grotesquely uneven ﬂoor that looked ﬂeshy, corded and struck through with pale pink tendons, and his hands were shaking, clasped tight around scalpels, bloody to the elbows. There was a blur before him, a rack, something amorphous and white pinned to it, twisting, its screaming in a dull throbbing buzz in the background. Castiel took a step back, swallowing a choked sob-

He was in a park, a playground, a snapshot of a good memory from four years ago, when they'd just taken Anael - Anna - under their branch. Raziel had been cremated for a month by now, his ashes returned to the Martyr's Room in the City under the City; she was his replacement. They were outside a church, and there had been children playing in the sand, laughing, ignorant of the threat that had hung over their head for three weeks, of the wendigo that they had slain in the woods, and Anna had turned, smiled, and said _this is why I ﬁght_.

It had been blasphemy, in a sense. They were meant to be God's warriors. They fought for God and His glory, not for a handful of nameless children in a park, but neither Castiel nor Balthazar had corrected her. It had been a good day. 

The park was empty now, except for a stranger sitting on one of the plastic swings, watching him. The stranger was dressed in a leather jacket, a black shirt and scuffed, faded gray jeans, and he could only be called 'handsome' the way the sun could be called 'warm': he was stunningly _gorgeous_ , from the vibrant green of his eyes to the quirk of his sensuous mouth, the way the jacket was obviously stretched over broad shoulders, the slender, graceful ﬁngers curled over his arms with just the hint of hidden strength. 

Castiel breathed in, and couldn’t breathe out, awed, ﬂoored, urges that he had long thought suppressed under responsibility and enforced celibacy slowly waking, insidious in their inexorability.

"Hello, _padre_ ," the stranger drawled, and his voice was sin itself, a dry, amused rasp, rich and playful, just deep enough for Castiel's heart to beat a little faster. "I'm Dean. What did you want?"

"What did I want?" Castiel repeated, bewildered, even as he had to swallow hard as his body tried to stir. He had never seen - or dreamed - anyone so beautiful before.

"You've been calling my name all afternoon, Cas. Pronunciation's a little bit better than that red-headed chick, but it didn't seem like you needed anything. Still, points for effort, and I thought that I'd better check." Dean grinned when Castiel gaped at him.

"You're... you're really an angel?"

"Yeah. Halo, wings, the works." Dean scuffed his shoes in the sand, then he scoffed when Castiel belatedly kneeled down. "Oh, don't do that. Come here. Sit there."

Nervously, Castiel sat in the other swing, as Dean indicated. This close to Dean, he could feel the heavy weight of the angel's... aura, like a warm presence, a blanket that radiated peace. Power. As though 'Dean' was something far more, something far greater than Castiel's comprehension, stuffed into a make-seem of a human. It made him breathless. Humbly, he murmured, "I... I am not worthy, Lord."

"Don't start with that, either," Dean rolled his eyes. "Call me Dean."

"Did you save me?"

"Took a bit of doing," Dean shrugged. "Haven't been down in that bit of real estate for an age. Held your soul in my hand and pulled you out, then I rebuilt you. Sorry about waking up underground, but I figured that you'd be able to dig yourself out fine. Your red-headed friend buried some of your ashes in there, and I thought that you'd prefer to wake up there than in the locked vault in the City under the City."

"What I did in Hell..." Castiel faltered. "I have sinned."

"Tends to be the norm with your kind," Dean told him, not unkindly, "And you held out for longer than most. Also, if it's any comfort to you, it was preordained."

"It was?"

"When the Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell," Dean glanced away, out at the silent, sleepy neighbourhood in his dream, "That's when the ﬁrst seal is broken."

"The ﬁrst seal?"

"Of Lucifer's prison," Dean clariﬁed. "And when sixty-six seals are broken, the apocalypse comes. Revelation. The Four Horsemen, Abbadon, the Beast from the Sea... You know. The works."

“I... I didn’t mean, I didn’t realize,” Castiel couldn’t lie, not under that steady green stare, couldn’t lie and said that if he’d only known, he would have tried harder. It would have made no difference. In the end, he would still have given in to Alastair. He had doomed far more than his soul, it seemed. Guilt settled over him, chokingly, making his chest ache and clench. "I'm sorry."

“And I told you that it was preordained. You were always gonna break.” Dean reached over and squeezed his palm, ignoring how Castiel visibly ﬂinched. Dean’s hand was hot - hotter than normal, feverish. “And it’s not done and dusted yet. Sixty-ﬁve seals to go, and the last one’s a bitch.”

Castiel stared down at his hands, twisting his ﬁngers together, then he took in a deep, shaky breath. “Tell me what I can do to make amends.” When Dean merely arched an eyebrow at him, he added, hastily, “Please.”

“I didn’t raise you to do things for me. I did it so that your red-headed friend would stop wearing my name out.” Dean, however, grinned when he said it. “Nothing for you and the rest to do now than hold the fort. Let the Host do the heavy lifting.”

“So angels will walk the earth.” Castiel recalled something of this, from the older, non-public versions of Revelation.

“Yeah.” Dean hesitated for a moment. “Oh, and you might want to keep out of our way. Not a lot of the rest are as nice as I am.” He smiled as he said this, warm and perfect, the edges of his gorgeous green eyes crinkling in humour, and Castiel knew then, immediately and hopelessly, that dream or otherwise, angel or not, he was going to wake aching with a blind and painful longing, damn his vows and his determination.

“I’ve never heard of an angel called Dean,” Castiel mumbled, to distract himself, then he blushed when Dean laughed, startled. “I mean, I didn’t mean any offence.”

“Sure you didn’t, Cas,” Dean drawled, if teasingly. “I’ve got other names. I just like this one, s’all. Now I’ll better get going. Things to do, people to see.”

“Wait. Um,” Castiel faltered when Dean glanced back at him, curious. “Could you bless me? That is, if... you...”

“Sure.” Grinning again, Dean reached over, and pressed his too-hot palm against Castiel’s forehead, and spoke a word in another language: it was like listening to the whisper of an oncoming storm, the echo of a fragment of creation, it shook him to his very bones, to his soul, and even as he opened his mouth to cry out, the dream burned _silver_.

Castiel jerked awake with a wordless shout into the dark, even as the brand on his shoulder seemed to throb, white-hot like a newly blistered burn, before abruptly fading.

Shaking, he pressed his palms against his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees. Had that been... real?

"Cassy?" Balthazar asked sleepily, from the couch, one hand groping for his shotgun, even as Castiel saw Anna glance out worriedly at him from behind the screen that cordoned off her sleeping space.

"Bad dreams," Castiel forced himself to smile, knowing that it was all too brittle. "Get some rest. We're going to have a lot of work to do in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel didn't think that he'd be seeing the angel again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh all the priest!kink, the ideas are back

IV.

The Vatican, perhaps unsurprisingly, was not entirely thrilled to learn that Castiel was alive again, and a phone call to Rome had ended on an almost unfriendly note. When Castiel hung up, he couldn't pull back a sigh as he sank into the unsteady chair at the desk, rubbing at his eyes.

"Dear old Zachy wasn't pleased?" Balthazar guessed from the workbench. The other operative was busy at work with a laptop, cross referencing recent spates of paranormal activity. As Castiel had suspected, it had spiked recently - after he had been pulled out of Hell. The dream had credence.

And besides, if he concentrated - really concentrated - he could still hear the echo of that fragment of Creation, like a hollow reverberation deep within his skull. It made his heart sing, his bones ache, and he felt wrung dry, pared bare. It was beautiful.

"He's never pleased," Anna observed. Anna had calmed all the way down to her usual state of blithe serenity, and was making everyone a cup of cocoa in the tiny kitchenette. "Hell would sooner freeze over."

"The both of you verge on blasphemy," Castiel muttered, but his heart wasn't in it - he was too distracted. "I'll be investigated. Zachariah may send down a Collective."

"Bloody inquisitors, it's what they are." Balthazar scowled instantly, and even Anna grimaced as she stirred cocoa into hot milk. The Collective - a selection of higher ranking operatives who investigated existing operatives for corruption - were not known to be gentle, and were secretly reviled or even feared by the rest of their Order. "Can't we vouch for you?"

"I doubt it. He's only being careful."

"He should be. Resurrections are usually followed by major Church schisms," Anna said dryly, though her expression remained pinched and worried. "Religious wars, even."

"Ooh." Balthazar pretended to perk up. "If there's going to be a Church of Castiel, I want to be the High Cardinal Bishop of Australia."

Castiel rubbed at his temple, in a futile attempt to stave off a headache. "Balthazar-"

"Why Australia?" Anna ignored him.

"Haven't you played 'Risk', girl? If there's going to be a war, I'll be safe."

The two operatives started bickering soon after that, and Castiel stifled another sigh. Both Balthazar and Anna had been sceptical about Castiel's dream, but admittedly, he had been selfish enough to leave out swathes of detail. Despite Dean's reassurances about destiny, Castiel didn't really want his closest friends to know that he had failed, that he had lost faith, that _he_ had started the Apocalypse.

The lie curled insidious and cold around his heart, and he'd regretted it almost as soon as he'd finished, but he couldn't amend it, even if he had wanted to. The shame, the self-loathing, the sour sense of self-disgust, it was still too raw, too new. He had told the Vatican and his friends just enough to warn them about what was coming. The Faithful had to be prepared. The beginning of it all didn't really matter, did it?

Also, he hadn't wanted his colleagues to know about Dean. He had mentioned meeting a messenger, but he hadn't gone into detail, and certainly hadn't mentioned his own, shameful reaction to a holy representative of the Lord. That part of his life was his to control, and in any regard, it hadn't really felt as though Dean was ever going to visit him again, judging from the angel's attitude and words. Finality was easy to bear.

The morning bled painfully slowly into the afternoon, and eventually, Castiel muttered something about needing air and stepped out of the warehouse, restless, walking briskly out towards the main thoroughfares. Anna had picked someplace quiet, nestled in the back end of an old industrial park, and the privacy was probably necessary. The Vatican authorized its operatives to resort to many methods in the name of God's Justice.

Castiel shuddered. In the end, in Hell, he had put some of his experience to use.

Swallowing hard, he picked up his pace once he walked onto the pitted driveway leading out to the road, only to hesitate when a black Impala cruised through, slowing down once it was nearer to him and turning in a gritty rumble of gravel and discarded rubbish. The driver's side window scrolled down, and to Castiel's utter astonishment, he found himself looking right at _Dean_. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean drawled, and Castiel's throat went parchment-dry. If he had thought Dean beautiful in the dream - well. A memory of something perfect was rather different from actually being in its presence. This close, close enough to see in stark detail the soft curls of Dean's lashes, the sun-touched skin that pressed quick into laugh lines, the plush curve of his lips, the long, elegant fingers...

"Breathe, man," Dean added, amused, and Castiel blushed hotly, dropping his eyes.

"I, um, I thought that you were, busy," he muttered, and added a hasty, " _Sir_ ," when Dean let out a low, rough chuckle that seemed to haul tight on Castiel's shredded self-control. 

Desperately, Castiel clenched his hands tightly enough that his nails bit into his skin. Surely Hell couldn't have laid him this _low_ , to lust after one of the Most Holy. Surely he was old enough, and experienced enough, to have some damned _self-control_. He'll be polite, he'll learn what the angel wanted, and then Dean will just as likely disappear again. Angels were busy creatures, weren't they?

"I was. I'm not now. Get in the car."

"I, uh, what?" Castiel asked, rather intelligently.

"Back seat, passenger seat, it's up to you, _padre_."

"I'm, um-"

"You're not busy right now, Cas," Dean told him, his grin widening a fraction, daring him to lie. "Are you?"

Castiel rocked back on his heels, his spine stiffening, then he took a shuddering breath. All right. This... this couldn't be hard, either: it was just going to be a private conversation, and he rather doubted that he could disobey an angel of the Lord, could he?

Awkwardly, Castiel rounded the car and settled in the front passenger seat. Dean wasn't strapped in, and when Castiel automatically reached for the seat belt, it felt as though he was tugging on something affixed to the seat before Dean's eyes went briefly distant, and then the sash spooled cleanly in his hand, affixing with a click that was louder than normal. 

"Where are we going, sir?" Castiel asked nervously, as the car pulled out of the driveway and towards the road.

"Nowhere in particular. I thought that we should talk. Face to face." Dean grinned at him, and Castiel realized numbly that Dean wasn't even bothering to pretend to drive; he wasn't watching the road, fingers were tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel, which stayed stationary even as the car turned gently into another lane, overtaking a puffing truck. And the seat that Castiel was nestled in was weirdly ergonomic, settling around him almost tenderly even as he shifted and tried to concentrate on the passing landscape.

The not-car was... unsettling, to say the least.

It was far too warm, until Castiel had thought about it being too warm, then abruptly it was cold, until he started to shiver, then it settled at a pleasant crispness, almost ingratiatingly. The speedometer was stuck at zero, as was the gas indicator, until Castiel frowned at it, then it nudged up grudgingly a quarter of a way, still far too wrong for the speed they were going at. The gas indicator wavered, then it skulked up to the quarter-full mark when Castiel glanced over. There was a radio, but the music was coming in from everywhere around them, as though there were miniature speakers wired even into the ground and the ceiling, playing some sort of rock music at a thumping beat that rattled his teeth.

"Led Zeppelin," Dean noted, and when Castiel blinked at him, added, "The music. 'Black Dog'." 

"Oh. Um. It's. Unexpected."

"Unexpected?" Dean repeated, though he seemed amused again. 

"I, uh, well, I thought that, angels would prefer, er, gospel music, perhaps-"

"Harps and hosannas?" Dean cut in, even as the not-car gently cut in front of a small blue Ford, just a fraction away from being rude. "Ha. That whole shindig about the fluffy wings and the togas and shit? That's one of Jo's ideas. She thought maybe a little good propaganda might make people more likely to help us out this time round."

"'This time round'?"

"The apocalypse's happened before, Cas. Noah's Ark? Egypt? Used to swing round every so often. Different circumstances, similar endings." Dean shrugged. "This one's working up to be pretty big, though, since there's a lot more souls involved this time. Heaven's a little more worried than usual."

"There're _scales_?" Castiel asked, mystified by now. He hadn't read _this_ much in the Catechisms.

"Kind of. Think of it as a reset button," Dean said encouragingly, even as Castiel flinched when the car curled close enough to a truck to earn them sharp honks and expletives. Ignoring that, Dean added, "The world moves in cycles. Every so often, it needs a reboot." 

"And the Book of Revelation, that will happen?"

"Yup. Fire, dragons, massive human casualties, the lot."

Castiel shuddered. "How can it be stopped?" When Dean arched an eyebrow, the priest added, self-consciously, "I mean, if it is God's Will, then, um, how can we help Him?"

"I liked your first question better," Dean cut in, his mouth curling into a warm smile that made Castiel hastily avert his eyes to the window, heat climbing slowly up his cheeks again. "God's not really in the equation right now."

"What?"

"He hasn't been home for a while. Mohammed has totally left the reservation." Dean shrugged, sounding so casual about it that Castiel almost began to nod in agreement, before he tensed in utter shock.

"Hell exists. Angels exist. Demons exist. How is it that God is gone?"

"Don't ask me. I'm just an angel." Dean drawled, again with the ironic emphasis. "But we've been left to our own devices for a while. For the main part, Bobby and Ellen keep most things running smooth, and things go out of whack only now and then. It's all hands on deck now, though."

"Sorry. Sir." Castiel murmured.

"Don't be. I told you, it's preordained." Dean patted his shoulder, and ignored how Castiel immediately flinched. Just as it was in the dream, Dean's touch was hot - fever-hot. "Don't beat yourself up over it, man. And seriously, stop with all the honorifics. You're starting to creep me out."

Castiel tensed, and eventually, Dean dropped his palm back onto the wheel. "I feel responsible. The Holy See will probably arrange to have me investigated."

Dean snorted. "Yeah. We made a mistake there. Organised religion's been a bit of a mess, execution wise. Not one of Bobby's best ideas." The angel seemed to mistake Castiel's blank look of confusion for curiosity. "He set things up. Laid down most of the ground rules, helped things along now and then, and sat back when you guys could move on your own steam. At first it was all help the poor, hosannas from the mountainside, and then it was smiting and wars and crazy talk." Dean shuddered. "Humanity, eh."

"'Crazy talk'?" Castiel repeated, numbly.

"I could go on for _days_ ," Dean glowered at the road, even as the car blithely cut in front of a Mini. "But that's not what I brought you out here for. I thought maybe you might want to get taken up to speed. Since you're all penitent and all. Give you some context about what to do next." 

Castiel couldn't bring himself to face Dean's good-natured humour. "Yes. Of course." 

"Reckon you're pretty familiar with Lilith?"

Castiel nodded slowly. It was rather hard to forget the face of the demon who had murdered you. "Anna has been trying to track her down."

"Try harder. She's the one coordinating the breaking of the seals. There're six hundred seals-"

"You said before that there were sixty-six," Castiel interrupted, with a frown. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah. Six hundred seals, but you only have to break sixty-six of them." Dean shrugged. "But I think that you can see the problem."

"Are not the Hosts of Heaven legion?" 

"Don't get smart with me," Dean drawled, though he smirked when Castiel looked quickly at him to see if he had given offence. "The answer is yes, we are legion, and yes, even so, we're stretched pretty thin. Angels have functions. And not all of us are warrior types. Besides, the game plan for the last few apocalypses was to save resources for the endgame, rather than wearing ourselves out trying to stop it from happening."

Castiel's heart sank. Perhaps the Book of Revelation had been a little light on its predictions. "If we could get a list of what the six hundred seals are, perhaps the Vatican could be of aid."

"You've got it in your libraries. Noah's journals." 

Castiel made a mental note to call Rome again as soon as he was able. "We'll make arrangements."

"Yeah, about that." Dean turned - or rather, the car turned itself off the road, coasting down a rough track, and abruptly, they were sliding to a stop at the bank of a lake, next to a jetty, and it was a warm day, with a coastline that Castiel had never seen before. Startled, Castiel glanced behind them, but the busy roads were gone.

Dean was already getting out of the car, striding around it to lean against the hood, arms folded, watching the lake, and after a moment's hesitation, Castiel let himself out and took a few steps over, stopping at a respectful distance. "A miracle."

"A minor one." Dean snorted, though he seemed amused again. "Kind of. I wanted a change of scenery. I like this place."

"I can see why." The sun was warm, and the lakeside with its sleepy trees seemed threaded through with a rich, languid sense of peace. "It's beautiful."

"Sometimes I just sit here for days. Watch the world move past." Dean pressed his palms back against the car and slouched. "There's a cabin, a short walk from here. It's always fully stocked. I've built up a collection of junk over the years, but it's cosy."

"Oh." Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to say, nor did he know exactly _what_ an angel might even want to collect.

"I strongly suggest that you stay there for a while," Dean continued, with a jerk of his thumb to his right. "Until the war blows over."

"I... what? _Why_?"

"You're needed as a back-up plan. If the seals all get broken, the one who started this whole shindig has to end it. I'm not sure what'll happen if you get killed off by accident before that." 

Dean was watching the waters as he said it, and for some reason, something struck Castiel as a little... off. Maybe it was the slightly formal way that Dean had spoken, as though it was rehearsed. "End it?"

"You don't need the details yet."

"My colleagues need me. I won't hide out in the woods unless there's a logical reason to do so." Castiel set his jaw. "Besides," he added, trying for levity when Dean narrowed his eyes dangerously, "The last time I was killed, it didn't seem to last."

"I'm not going back to Hell for you again. You have no idea how hard it was to pull you out of there," Dean cut in, though he snorted. "We could just arrange for the Vatican to recall you to Rome. That'll work, too."

True. Anxiously, Castiel was quick to note, "Dean, I want to help. I wish to atone."

Dean glanced at him, seeing within him, _through_ him, with those gorgeous green eyes, and swallowing, Castiel forced himself to hold the stare until the angel finally looked away, exhaling. " _Padre_. Those kinds of things that you did... they don't wash off easy. But there's a time and place, and it ain't now."

"And the end of the world isn't time and place enough to pay back my debts?" Castiel pressed.

"Hah." Dean shook his head, though he seemed pleased - his shoulders sloped, relaxing. "You're as bloody stubborn as I remember." Castiel blinked, surprised at the phrasing, but Dean abruptly pushed himself away from the car. "Now that we've had our talk, do you want to go back?"

"Yes. Please." Castiel stepped back over to the Impala, but the door didn't budge. "Dean."

Dean had folded his arms, fingers curling into his sleeves as he stared out over the lake. "Rome's still gonna come for you, you know that." 

"You could... you could call them off," Castiel noted doubtfully. He didn't really relish a Collective visit, either. "You could, couldn't you?"

"I don't have any influence there," Dean said, again with the evasiveness, his jaw working, then he sighed explosively.

"I'm going to be recalled to Rome," Castiel deduced, parsing Dean's increasingly awkward-seeming circular speech. Angels couldn't lie, could they? But they could walk carefully over the truth. "Aren't I?"

"Could be," Dean sounded reluctant.

Castiel nibbled on his lower lip, thinking quickly. All their safe houses - including Anna's - were all likely registered with the Vatican. Setting up a new place that was well-stocked and suitable was going to take time. Unless-

"Does anyone know about your cabin?" Castiel asked.

"Some of the other angels, sure. People, no." Dean tilted his head, studying Castiel. "Changed your mind?"

"No. But with your leave, perhaps we could... operate from there for a while. I'll make my apologies to Rome. Perhaps after everything is averted, they would understand."

"'Averted', huh."

"You didn't seem very certain about whether you wanted the apocalypse to pass, yourself," Castiel pointed out. "There'll be human casualties, won't there?"

"Yeah. In the billions. Just like before." Dean shrugged. "It's a cycle." 

"One that you're not sure of."

"You're getting annoying, _padre_ ," Dean told him, though his lips curved faintly. "Angels don't have self-doubt. It's not a _done_ thing."

"I did not say that you did."

"Huh," Dean rolled his shoulders, then he shrugged again. "Fine. Use the house if you want. Try not to burn it down. Your friends can come too, if they want. I'll get you a copy of Noah's journals, and you guys can get busy."

"Thank you," Castiel said, surprised. The angel's about turn had been abrupt. Almost worryingly so. "That's... very kind of you." 

"Part of the job, isn't it?" Dean drawled, his eyes bright with amusement, as though at some private joke. "Well. Got to go. You're in Sioux Falls, by the way."

About to ask _where exactly_ , the question died in Castiel's throat when the Impala's form seemed to smudge and liquefy, like a mirage in the air, then flow _upwards _, pooling up against Dean's shoulders in the space of a few heartbeats, and then, flickering, abruptly dropped into focus, as a pair of massive black wings, wrought in shades of deep blue and indigo. Awed, Castiel gaped, running his eyes reverently over the beautiful structures, the creature that was so far beyond human, _holy___ -

"What?" Dean asked, frowning, when he noticed Castiel staring at him. The wings curled closer to his back, as though warily.

"They're... you're beautiful," Castiel blurted out, then he blushed again, and wished that he hadn't done so.

"Oh, these." Dean's right wing twitched, the primary feathers brushing the grass. "You should see Sam's." Dean's expression froze a little even as he said it, then he was grinning again, the tension smoothed over. "What did you think the car was?"

"I... well, I don't know," Castiel confessed, his mind briefly blown. Of course. Angels used their wings to get around, wouldn't they? He had been riding in a manifestation of divine _grace_. "That's incredible."

"I like humans," Dean said, as though to himself, apparently pleased by Castiel's gawking. "All right then, I'm going to make a move. There's a phone line in the house, you can reach your friends with it." 

"Will I see you again?" The words tumbled from his throat before he could control himself. 

Dean hesitated in the middle of flaring his wings, and clipped them close against his back again, watching him soberly. "You probably will. Though you'd wish that you didn't." 

There was a flutter of wings, and then the angel was gone. Blinking, Castiel stared at the space that Dean had only just occupied, then back at the lake, unsettled by sudden misgivings. Then he took a deep breath, to steady himself, and began to trudge in the direction that the house was meant to be in. He'll have to tell Anna and Balthazar about Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the slow updates. The semester is winding to an end, so everything is due.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names are just titles.

V.

Balthazar and Anna were openly sceptical, unsurprisingly, when Castiel finally told them the whole story, this time leaving nothing out from what had happened in Hell. "You're _sure_ that he's an angel?" Balthazar asked, yet again.

"I am certain," Castiel replied firmly. Despite everything, he did feel... _relieved_. It had not been a good feeling, lying to Balthazar and Anna, and to his astonishment, they hadn't immediately condemned him. Anna had pursed her lips, and Balthazar had clenched his hands, when Castiel had described how he had given in to Alastair, but other than that, they had said nothing.

The Sioux Falls house was large, sprawling, and unnaturally clean despite being unoccupied. It sat in the middle of an old scrap yard, the hulks of dead cars littering the packed dirt, and inside the house there were bedrooms, a large library, cases of esoteric ingredients and weaponry, and what looked like a reinforced panic room in the basement. There was electricity and hot water, at least, although there were no plates, cups or anything in the fridge. The house felt like a construct of some sort, like a storage space or a model of a house; it had furniture, it was filled with stuff, but it had obviously never been occupied. 

"Sorry to break it to you, Cassy," Balthazar said slowly, as behind him, Anna leafed through a leather-bound green book that she had picked out of the shelves, "But nothing about 'Dean's' story holds water."

"Which parts?"

"First he tells you to stay out of it, then he tells you to 'try harder' to locate Lilith; he mentions that the angels are 'handling' the matter, then it seems that they're going to wait till the seals are broken? He's been contradicting himself at every turn," Balthazar ticked his points off his fingers. "And it feels like he's manipulated you into staying at this house. I don't know about you, but that's fucking creepy."

"If he's not an angel, then what is he?" Castiel persevered, although he had to admit that Balthazar's words struck an ugly chord within him. Dean's story had definitely seemed... shaky, at points, even through Castiel's distraction, and also rehearsed, as though he was carefully trying to move a chess piece on a board beyond Castiel's imagining. "He had wings."

"Phoenixes have wings. So do the lamia. It's hardly a representation of holiness. And it's the end times, isn't it? There's bound to be monsters out there popping up that we haven't heard of. Besides, black wings? That's sort of indicative, isn't it? The literature's usually pretty consistent about angel wings being white or gold. Maybe he's a... a fallen angel, or something. Or just some end times demon that hasn't been described in the Catechisms."

"Then what do you suggest, Balthazar?" Castiel conceded grudgingly. He didn't think that Dean was a monster - at least, not the sort that the Vatican hunted. The aura that he had felt from Dean hadn't seemed malevolent in the least, and the blessing still burned bright and silver in his mind, strengthening him whenever he drew his mind towards it. "Should we leave?"

"We're hunters," Anna closed the book and slotted it back onto the shelf, "And Dean is not human. Our duty is clear."

"He's not evil," Castiel objected sharply.

"Or so you think. Look," Balthazar raised a hand when Castiel rounded on him, "All I'm saying is, it's the end times, and whatever Dean is, it approached you first. It won't help to at least figure out what it is. If it turns out to be benign, sure, we'll just walk away. But if it's a monster, or God, something out of Revelation, then you'd better be ready to pull the trigger."

"Yes. Fine." Castiel sucked in a breath, even as his stomach seemed to twist itself into knots. "You're right. We're Huntsmen. It's our duty. I'm sorry. I should have given this more thought."

"It might have cast some sort of glamour on you," Balthazar noted, not unkindly. "The old Castiel would have thought this through."

The old Castiel had been torn apart in Hell, piece by piece, and twisted into something that he had hated. Castiel closed his eyes, nodding, and when he looked back up again, Anna was standing beside Balthazar, looking worried. "Castiel, what you did in Hell... what you said you did... I won't judge you."

"You should. Others will. I have." Castiel told her quietly. "I started this war. By discarding discipline, duty. By doing the unforgivable." 

"It was going to happen anyway, according to 'Dean'." Balthazar pointed out, and clapped him on the shoulder, making Castiel flinch. "Come on. Let's explore this old place. Figure out what we're up against."

"I'll make some calls to my contacts," Anna picked out another book. "I brought my notebooks. Maybe I did call up something else." She pulled a face as she did so, and Balthazar rolled his eyes.

" _Finally_ Anna admits that she might have been wrong. Hallelujah."

"Don't get used to it," Anna shot back, as she started to leaf through the book, and Castiel quickly tugged on Balthazar's arm as he grinned, clearly preparing to launch some sort of return salvo.

The panic room had an echo, even over the ventilation fan set above, and Balthazar's laugh boomed hollow over the reinforced walls. "I missed her."

"I knew that you would." Castiel studied the devil's traps scored into the ground and the walls of the panic room, curious. They were perfectly made, some with symbols that he wasn't even familiar with. Carefully, Castiel took his small notebook from his pack and started to sketch. 

"I missed _you_ ," Balthazar added, plopping himself down on the narrow cot that had been bolted to one of the walls. "I guess you should know. Even if Anna had majorly fucked up, and this Dean is some sort of new demon, I'm happy that you're back."

"So you've said." 

"Just pointing it out. Since _you_ don't seem too happy about it. You've been grim for _days_."

Castiel rubbed a palm over his face. "Balthazar..."

"I know. I know. But I think that what happens in Hell stays in Hell," Balthazar shrugged. "We all make mistakes. You didn't know that you were going to start off the apocalypse. And you're trying your damnedest to make amends. You're still a good man, Cassy. Still trying to care about all of the rest of the world, still trying your fucked up best to hold everything together. That hasn't changed. If it had, did you think that Anna and I would still be with you?"

"No." That was good to know, at least. Castiel bowed his head. "Thank you." 

"Suppose I'll thank Dean, just before I kick his ass," Balthazar mused. "If he really did pull you out of Hell, anyway."

"I really doubt that he is malevolent," Castiel finished sketching a symbol, and started on another. "Our energies would be better spent studying the seals." 

"Or these books."

Balthazar looked up sharply, drawing the silver dagger from the hidden sheath in his sleeve as he did so, when Dean spoke from the entrance to the panic room in his playful drawl. He had a duffel bag in his hands, which he tossed into the room. "Noah's journals. As promised."

"Um. Dean. This is Balthazar." Castiel said, into the tense silence.

"I know. I've heard him. His Enochian is terrible." Dean looked Balthazar over briefly before glancing back at Castiel. "Settling in well?"

"We are. Thank you." Castiel murmured awkwardly, tongue-tied again. He had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was starting to blush, just by being in Dean's presence; the world seemed sharper and in better focus when Dean was around, Castiel felt, as though it was feeding off his presence - his heart was speeding up, racing, making him sweat-

"Good, good," Dean nodded vaguely. "Well, I'm off," he added, and vanished. 

Castiel busied himself opening the bag while Balthazar stood staring at blank space, and the other operative only shook himself out of his shock when Castiel carefully opened the first, linen-wrapped package to reveal an ancient book, its leather pitted and cracked, pages yellowing and fragile. "Noah's journals." Castiel breathed, wrapping up the book again. They would need gloves to handle these; even if they were copies, Castiel had no doubt that the journals were probably older than most of the books in the Great Library. Joshua would have gone into transports of joy. 

"Or what we think are his journals," Balthazar grumbled, ever paranoid. "So that was Dean."

"Yes," Castiel confirmed, then added, before he could help himself, "Very sinister."

Balthazar snorted, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Cassy," he began, hesitated, then let out a dry laugh. "That how you got into this life?"

"What?" Castiel asked, blinking. 

"The priesthood." When Castiel stared at him blankly, Balthazar arched an eyebrow. "If that was really an angel, I suppose they're as beautiful as the stories go. He'd catch the eye of most women - and some men."

"Oh." Castiel swallowed. So Balthazar had noticed. "No. Not really." That had been one reason why he had chosen to be a priest, years ago when he had first realized that women held no interest for him, not the way other boys did, but it had not been the only one.

"I'm not judging you," Balthazar shrugged. "Besides, in this Division, it's not important. Doubt Zachariah really cares about anything more than whether we can shoot a gun or a crossbow. Some of us drink, smoke, worse. Failed priests by any other measure, especially those of us who choose the life. Usually the Huntsmen are foundlings, like Anna. People like you and me who choose to go into it tend to have their reasons."

"I'm-" Castiel started in a rush, then he took in a breath. "I was assigned to a parish. Just as a priest. A normal priest. I was young. Held mass, kept vigils. It was a nice village, out in Italy. A skinwalker happened to it. Small town... it slew everyone," Castiel shuddered at the memories, old and dusted over as they were; toys soaked red and pale hands half-opened on asphalt. "It was blind luck that I killed it. After that... after that, the Vatican intervened. I chose to be initiated into the Division."

"You killed a skinwalker without training?" Balthazar whistled. "Hell."

"I was lucky. What about you?" Castiel asked, self-conscious now; all too aware that he, Balthazar and Anna had been together for so long, first as initiates, then being assigned to the same unit without knowing how they'd come to be there. It had been an unspoken taboo of the Huntsmen, asking how they had come to be in the Division. For those who hadn't been born into it, their reasons were all too often laced in pain or survivor's guilt.

"Vampire," Balthazar noted reluctantly, after a pause. "It killed my brother. Then my brother got my family. I was saved by Uriel and... Isaiah, Haniel. I followed them around afterwards until they caved in and signed me up."

"Ah." What else was there to say?

"You guys are my family now," Balthazar sheathed his blade, "And I'm telling you to wake the hell up, Cassy. Be careful."

"I am. I will be." Castiel assured Balthazar awkwardly.

"I'll take those up to Anna," Balthazar picked up the duffle bag. "You keep looking for clues." 

"Who's in charge of this unit again?" Castiel asked, though he smiled wryly as he said it.

Balthazar, however, only stared soberly back at him. "Until you're thinking straight again, Cassy? I think that you shouldn't be calling the shots for a while."

VI.

Castiel dreamed of the park again, and this time, Dean was perched on the top bar of the swings, legs dangling into space against the chains, his gorgeous wings stretched out behind him for balance, and he was singing in a language that Castiel didn't recognise, clapping his hands on his knees, and the sight was so incongruous that Castiel stood for a long moment, silent, before finding his voice.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Cas." Dean curled his hands into the bar, kicking out his legs. "You called?"

Castiel had prayed before going to bed, as he normally did, but he hadn't been able to keep the matter of Dean and Balthazar's warning out of his mind. "After a fashion." 

"I know you have doubts," Dean clipped his wings close, to his shoulders, "But believe me, there's nothing better that you can do right now than staying in that house."

"For me? Or for the rest of the world?"

"It's one and the same," Dean slipped off the bar, flaring his wings and landing lightly on the sand. "Everyone's looking for you, Cas. The Vatican, the other angels. Whatever you say outside of dreams, outside of that house, you have to assume that people are watching." 

"We're all on the same side," Castiel frowned, confused. "The Church and Heaven."

"Essentially, essentially," Dean made a dismissive gesture, "I can't interfere more than I already have. I've probably already done too much. You've got to make your own decisions from now on, Cas. Read those journals."

"I have." Ancient Hebrew had made it very slow going, though. All operatives had to learn it, for the sake of spellwork and exorcisms, but Castiel hadn't had to use it to read long documents before. Even Anna, with her interest in Biblical history, had been struggling. "He tried to stop the apocalypse, but failed." 

"And?"

"He spoke about a choice. Something about a weapon." The journals had been cryptic near the end. "Becoming a tool of Heaven. But it was already too late?"

"Nope. He chose." Dean glanced away. "The cycle completed itself. Lucifer was cast back into the Pit. The balance was corrected."

"But most of the world's population was wiped out."

Dean smiled faintly. "The wicked and corrupt, if you'd believe the popular version of the Bible, eh. Everyone but his family." 

Castiel shivered. This conversation was beginning to border on blasphemy. He had never had any doubts about the morality of Noah's story before, even the popularised version. "And what happened to Noah?"

"He lived past the Flood. For a very long time." Dean hesitated for a moment, then he added, "And then he died, so that he could be reborn, in time, to replay his part again, as the Righteous Man, just as he had all the cycles before him, and all the cycles to come." Dean spread out his hands, almost mockingly. "Amen."

Castiel stared at Dean for a long, astonished moment of silence. "But... _you_ said that _I_ was the-"

"Yes, yes," Dean made the dismissive gesture again. "And like I said, it's preordained. You'll make the same choices each time round. You always have." 

There was a question there, though, hidden deep down, and Castiel swallowed hard, clenching his hands. "So all of the world but a select few will perish. That is preordained?"

"Yup." 

"What makes you think that it won't happen this time round?" Castiel asked, and when Dean arched an eyebrow, he added sharply, "I'm not stupid, Dean. I can tell that you want something from me. You've been pushing me towards something. If you had let me be, I would have followed the Vatican's will-"

"As if that's usually the right thing to do," Dean muttered, his wings twitching, then he hooked his fingers into his jeans pockets. "Okay. I wanted you to stay in that house. Because it's warded against other angels. I coded one exception for myself." 

"Warded against... but why?" Castiel asked, bewildered.

"Because I'm tired, Cas," Dean growled, and above them, the sky began to turn gray, clouds thickening and darkening. "I'm tired of the cycle. I'm tired of having to fight my brother, all right? I'm tired."

"Your brother," Castiel repeated, frowning, then he recalled Dean's reaction upon being complimented on his wings. "Sam?"

Dean hesitated again, his expression going distant, then he squared his shoulders. "You humans called him Samael, once," he noted quietly. "Now, you call him Lucifer."

"Lucif... who _are_ you?" Castiel demanded, wide-eyed. "Are you one of the Four?"

"That's not important," Dean said evasively. "Look. If you want to stop the apocalypse from happening, it's simple. Stay where you are, and sit it out. You won't be able to make the choice if you sit tight. There'll be a stalemate."

"But the events of Revelation, they're still ongoing," Castiel pointed out, bewildered. "The increased number of demons, the murders-"

"Let the Vatican and the angels handle that. But the big end game, that won't happen, if you stay where you are. Keep nice and quiet." 

"How can I trust you? How do I know that you aren't lying to me?"

"I guess you're going to have to take that on faith, _padre_ ," Dean drawled, and flashed one of his brilliant smiles. "Just like you have before." 

"You won't even tell me who you are."

"Because you already know who I really am, Cas." Dean reached over abruptly, to press a too-warm palm over Castiel's eyes. "You've just been asking me the wrong questions."

The world skewed and blurred even as the word _wait_ choked itself in Castiel's throat, and then he was sitting up and gasping for air, dizzy and disoriented, tangled in the sheets, struggling until he accidentally rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a yelp and a _thump_. As he pulled himself up, the door to the room swung open, and Anna peered in, dressed in a hastily pulled together bathrobe, a fully loaded crossbow in her hands.

"Castiel?"

"Nightmare," Castiel choked out, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry."

"Clear," Anna said, towards the corridor, and Castiel heard Balthazar's muffled curse, then receding footsteps. 

"Sorry," Castiel repeated, as he awkwardly pulled himself back onto the bed. "I'll be fine, Anna. Go back to sleep." Anna nodded, her face pinched with worry, then she closed the door.

Castiel closed his eyes, and waited until he couldn't hear footsteps anymore, before whispering into the dark. "Archistrategos Michael."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait t_t I'm stringing out way too many WIPS atm. Still have to work on the airmail_firstclass gift!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I try to get around to finishing at least one old WIP per year... here's an attempt at closing Obiter Dicta. ^^;; I don't know if anyone's even still reading this fic, but here goes.
> 
> Notes: I haven't actually watched SPN past bits of Season 6. So I'm shaky, to say the least, and I'm not going to reference anything from 6 onwards. This will pretty much be a Season 5 AU.

1.0.

Archistrategos Michael, High Commander of the Heavenly Host, First of the Archangels and the Bearer of the Glory of Yahweh, liked to spend his mornings in an eternity of mornings in anonymous no-name American diners with apple pie and endless pours.

There was something ruthlessly _mortal_ about it all, about the inevitably greasy, laminated tabletops, the smell of charring bacon and cheap coffee, the sticky floors, the hopelessly tired seats. Dean loved it: he found it comforting, surrounded by the trappings of uncomplicated humanity. So on this morning, like before, and the one before that, Dean sat contently beside a grimy window in a one-street town comfortably in the middle of nowhere, nursing a nuclear-strength coffee while waiting for his pie, and at this late hour of the morning, most of the diner’s regulars had come and gone, most of them pit stop truckers on the way between somewhere and anywhere. 

The pie came, a generous slice of it, the young, spotty-faced waitress blushing as Dean smiled at her, and Dean held the plate carefully between his palms, and breathed in luxuriously, slow and deep. The apple pie from this particular diner was thick, stacked deep with sliced apples, raisins and cinnamon, with a crumbly, buttery crust and a patchwork pastry roof, served with a huge dollop of thickened cream. Dean breathed out, picked up his fork, then frowned to himself as he heard the door to the diner shove open, the bell affixed to it ringing.

Archangel Raphael, the Herald of the Lord, The One Who Heals, Third of the Archangels, stomped grumpily into the diner. The vessel that Raphael favoured this cycle round was a gruff, stout male, round face liberally outlined with silvering hair, forever wearing a grubby blue cap, a checkered collared shirt, and an inner black tee over denim jeans. He spotted Dean from across the diner and ambled over, seating himself opposite him at the booth, and ordering a coffee as the waitress bustled over, sensing a doubled tip. 

Defensively, Dean ate some of his pie, wary of a possible emergency imminent that might require him to abandon it. “Hey, Bobby. ‘Sup?”

“What’s up,” Bobby growled, “Is that the shit is royally hitting the fan at the speed of light, and our Gracious Leader seems to be squirrelling himself away on funny business day and night. That’s what’s _fuckin’_ up.”

Dean winced. “Hey, hey. I’m working, all right. Besides, I’ve always had an open door policy. Anyone got a problem, they can take it up with me.”

“Well, count this as me taking it up with you,” Bobby said irritably. “Where have you been, huh?”

“Got to be more specific.”

“All right, wiseass,” Bobby narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been going dark for an hour or so, everyday. Some time back you disappeared for a whole couple of days. What the fuck, huh? The apocalypse’s revving back up. It’s all hands on deck. Ellen’s pretty damned worried about you.”

Archangel Gabriel, the Messenger of the Lord, Defender of the Faith, Fourth of her kind, was, at her core, a massive worrier, in Dean’s opinion. “She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah? So why’re you avoiding the question?”

Dean sucked in a slow breath, for patience, and covered by eating another large forkful of pie. The waitress sidled over, with a steaming mug of coffee for Bobby, but he barely acknowledged her, intent on glowering at Dean. 

“Fine,” Dean said finally. “I went and pulled my sword out of Hell, all right?”

“The Righteous Man?” Bobby blinked. “What for? Hell would’ve spat that one out sooner or later. S’part of the cycle. You looking to forge your blade early or what?”

“No! No.” Dean muttered, and ate another bite of pie, although he didn’t have the appetite for it any longer, his stomach souring. This incarnation of the Michael Sword was _gorgeous_ , fiercely holy: for all that Dean had watched Castiel from his birth, he still felt a touch of awe just from being in the priest’s presence. “I just wanted to, all right? To see if it would make a difference.”

“What difference?”

“Hell damages humans,” Dean said, and hoped he didn’t sound evasive. In truth, he had been hoping that Castiel’s friend Anna would have acted more quickly. If only he had managed to extract Castiel before the Righteous Man had shed blood in Hell…

… but then again, it would only have bought the world and Castiel a momentary reprieve. Castiel was mortal, and he was destined for Hell until he broke the First Seal, no matter what sort of strings Dean pulled. 

“That’s the purpose of it,” Bobby frowned at Dean. “Isn’t this against the rules?”

“Not if I’m answering a prayer,” Dean said, a little smugly. “A specific one, invoking my name.”

“And how the hell did anyone get the script of your true name in Enochian…” Bobby trailed off. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. I just hope that you’ve gotten rid of it.”

“Yup.” Dean had quietly gotten rid of all the paperwork in Anna’s hideout, when Anna and Balthazar had rushed off to Sioux Falls. “Didn’t matter a damn anyway,” he said quickly, as Bobby sipped his coffee, still scowling. “Poor man’s already done in. Apocalypse’s started, heigh ho, here we go again and all that.”

“Right,” Bobby said gruffly. “Well, the Vatican, for all its fucked up problems, actually does have a pretty decent Huntsman division this time round. I’ve put the word out, visions and all. They’ll help us cover for some of the seals. We’re pulling shifts on the more popular ones, for practice if anything. But like you’ve said before, spreading ourselves thin before the big throw down is just asking for trouble.”

“Yup,” Dean said glumly. Whatever the reason, he had always had the sneaking suspicion that their Creator, Beloved Father, Lord of Creation and Beyond, the Builder of the Holy City and the One True God, had stacked the chips against his own kids, probably just for the heck of it. The seals would all break - eventually. Even the last one. If Team Love and Peace and Feathers wanted to be true to themselves, they all knew that deep down, all they could really do was prepare for the inevitable. 

Dad was such a dick.

“I s’pose,” Bobby added thoughtfully, “Since you got your Sword up on earth early and all, maybe you should forge it early too. Get that out of the way. He’s vulnerable when mortal _and_ on earth, aye?”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What? No!” 

“Dean,” Bobby said patiently. “I like humans too. But there’s no point getting attached to them. You _know_ this.” 

“I still got time, all right? No rush.”

“No rush?” Bobby echoed, rolling his eyes. “Sooner or later, they’ll break enough seals to kick off the real deal. The world will start sprouting Horsemen. And if you don’t have your Sword forged by the time it comes down to Death, things are gonna get real hairy, just saying. Get it out of the way.”

“The Righteous Man can also stop the cycle. Remember?” 

“Yeah, like we’ve ever gotten to that bit,” Bobby snorted. “The way I see it, the Host has got to be real desperate to depend on one human to end the cycle. ‘Sides. I know it’s in the script, but I always felt it was more of a footnote rather than anything. We need to run this the way we always have.”

“With the massive human casualties and all, huh?” Dean poked gloomily at his pie.

“There’s lots of them and they breed like rabbits. They’ll be back,” Bobby shrugged. “This world needs a reset. They’ve fucked it up good this cycle. Gonna take a hell of lot of fixing from us during the downtime to get it back up to working order. Especially since our Father is gone. Hey,” Bobby added worriedly, when Dean didn’t answer. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, perhaps not convincingly, because Bobby scowled at him all over again. 

“This about your Sword?”

“Not all of it.” Angels technically _could_ lie, especially to each other. But it felt uncomfortable to go against base code, and Dean had to swallow a cooling mouthful of pie to hide his grimace. 

“Suuure,” Bobby drawled. “Look, if he’s up top, Hell knows it as well. They’re gonna be looking for him. If they off your Sword before he gives the go-ahead, we’re fucked. You know that, right?”

“I know that,” Dean said grumpily. “I think we have time, all right?”

“All right. You’re the boss,” Bobby raised his hands palms up in mock surrender.

“Just get back to work,” Dean shot back, and Bobby rolled his eyes and vanished, with a fluttering sound of wings. At the counter, the waitress gasped, but at a quick fix from Dean, she looked away again, incurious. 

Dean glared at his pie, sighed, put down his fork and knife, and paid up, leaving the waitress a hefty tip. Then he strolled outside, because he had standards, thank you, and nipped behind the back before he took flight.

2.0.

After checking in on a few of the static Seals, Dean gave in to temptation and popped by Sioux Falls. To his amusement, Castiel had gravitated towards the small jetty by the lake, and the deck chair that Dean had dragged there once, to sit by the water and watch the mortal world go by. Castiel was curled in the chair, asleep, one of Noah’s priceless journals precariously tilting out of his lap, and as Dean picked it up and put it carefully on the ground, Castiel woke up, with a yelp and a start.

“Easy there, padre,” Dean drawled, and smirked as Castiel blinked at him, recognised him, then blushed to the roots of his unruly hair. “That book’s priceless.”

“I, ah, I was ah, just resting my eyes, sir,” Castiel mumbled, and got out of the chair, fingers twisting together awkwardly. “Er… did you need something?”

“Just thought I might swing by to see how you were going.”

“I’ve been trying to understand the journals.” Castiel picked up the book, holding it to his chest defensively. He was still wearing the priest’s collar, the cassock rumpled over his knees. 

“Seems to me like you got the gist of it the last time.”

“Becoming a tool of Heaven,” Castiel repeated earnestly. “What does that mean?” 

“Exactly what it says on the label.”

“But the ‘endgame’, it won’t happen if I hide here?” 

“Well, you’ll be safest if you stayed in the house, especially in that panic room,” Dean scratched at his jaw. “But this bit, sure. Could work. I’ll prefer that you stayed put, though.”

“But,” Castiel said, as stubborn as he had always been, “Is not becoming a tool of Heaven the right choice? My whole life has been devoted to God.”

“Nope,” Dean said bluntly. “Your whole life was devoted to a bastardised version of a get-happy-quick scheme that one of my brothers cooked up. Believe me, you don’t owe God shit.”

Castiel reddened further, and Dean regretted his tone. It didn’t help to anger the natives. “You don’t talk like an angel,” Castiel muttered then, and hugged the book more tightly.

“How many angels have you met before?”

Castiel ignored the question. “Don’t angels have white wings?”

Dean let out a deep sigh. “This again?” 

“Maybe you’re not an angel,” Castiel said tentatively, though he sounded uncertain, and Dean snorted, hooking his thumbs in the hem of his jeans. 

“What kinda proof do you want? Shoot me with salt, try to burn me, holy water, all that won’t work on me. Wanna try?”

“No,” Castiel didn’t look too convinced, however. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. But I… look. I don’t think that you’re evil. I’ve been around evil for a great deal of my life.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, padre.” Dean said, amused.

“That being said,” Castiel said quietly. “If you are what you say you are, what I… think you are… then I do want to help you. If I can become a tool of Heaven-“

“Cas-“

“-then I want to be one,” Castiel said sharply. “I have to atone.” 

Dean closed his eyes briefly, squelching down his frustration, and forced a smile. “Good to hear, padre. But let’s just keep that as Plan B, all right?” 

“So what’s Plan A? Let the world burn, stay out of it, and hope that everyone else eventually runs out of fuel?”

“I’m working on Plan A.” 

“Can I help?”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “You can help by staying where you are and keeping on the down low. Understand?”

Castiel’s jaw set, a gesture so familiar that for a second, Dean was actually disoriented. Damnation, but _this_ particular incarnation of the Righteous Man sure as hells didn’t need to be so pretty. Bed hair, flashing eyes, that _mouth_ \- 

“I understand, sir,” Castiel said finally, though he sounded suspicious. 

“Good. I’m off. Catch you later.”

“Wait,” Castiel said quickly. “Ah. Are there more of these journals?”

“Copies? Ah…” Dean frowned to himself, racking his mind. He was fairly sure that Ellen had a set.

“Not copies. I mean. Books after this. You said that Noah lived. He survived the apocalypse. He must have written more journals.”

“There aren’t any more.”

“I find that strange. He was very meticulous.” 

Dean could hardly tell Castiel the truth about _that_. Or, admittedly, about certain salient things, including Castiel’s actual role as the Righteous Man. Even if Dean had tried, the words would just have twisted shut in his throat. 

Angels, after all, were part of the code of pure Creation - and their Father had hard-coded quite a few unbreakable instructions. Trying to talk around the instructions only really worked in dreams. Out of the dreamwalk, Dean was acutely aware that he was probably contradicting himself, whenever asked a question about his duty.

“All he really wanted was to document the apocalypse. After the bells and whistles and the throw down was over, there wasn’t much else to write about.”

Castiel looked openly unconvinced, but he nodded slowly. “He didn’t trust the angels,” Castiel said then, quietly. “Not all of you.”

“Stands to reason,” Dean said indifferently. “Angels Fall. It’s in even your version of the Holy Book. Happens every time. Be careful.”

“Every angel.”

“Some of us aren’t so nice,” Dean admitted. “Y’see. To us. You guys don’t live very long at all. Most of us don’t like to get attached.”

“He trusted _you_ , though.” Castiel added, as though he hadn’t heard. “Implicitly.”

“… Yeah.” Dean grimaced. “So he did.” 

“And for good or ill,” Castiel added, “After he made his choice, the books end. But the apocalypse happened anyway, did it not? The great flood wiped out most of humanity. So what’s the point?” Castiel asked flatly. “Is there a difference between winning and losing?”

Dean tried to bottle down his smile, but it flashed out anyway, sharp and grateful. The Righteous Man had finally _learned_. “Depends on your opinion.”

“By human opinion, not particularly, is there? Either way, there’s devastation.”

“Well,” Dean allowed, “If Lucifer wins, there’ll be complete devastation. He hates your species.”

“But if you win,” Castiel continued, “We’ll still be setting ourselves up for some gigantic natural disaster. _And_ if we ever recover, the cycle will just come again, won’t it?”

“Got it in one.” 

“Sounds like a bad deal all round.”

“Yup.” Dean said, resigned. “Don’t I know it.”

“So does your Plan A involve, hopefully, stopping everything in its tracks? In the early stages? Balthazar has some contacts out there, and apparently the world’s steadily going totally crazy. The number of supernatural problems and attacks has gone up. It’s even reached the news.”

Dean tried to voice his plan out loud, but the words flattened in his throat, and he swallowed hard. “Said I was working on it.” 

“Forgive me for saying this, but that does not precisely inspire confidence.” 

“I think I kinda preferred you when you had to be stopped from kneeling and grovelling,” Dean said, though he smirked a little, and Castiel blushed again, dropping his eyes to his feet. “Hey, just ribbing you.”

“I would like to help,” Castiel muttered. 

“You can’t,” Dean noted, not unkindly. “It’s an angel thing, all right?”

“All right,” Castiel said dubiously. “I just… I don’t like feeling so _helpless_. Being in there… it’s like being trapped.”

“Sorry about that. Can’t be helped.”

“Also,” Castiel added quietly, his eyes narrowing, “What did you mean, when you said that you’re tired of fighting Lucifer?” 

“Exactly what I said.” Dean concentrated, finally, and caught the broad weave of unease across Castiel’s mind, of self-doubt wrapped in pain, of bleak suspicion, and added, “Wait. You think that I’ve gone bad?” 

He started to laugh, even as Castiel blinked at him, and flushed all over again, fingers curling and uncurling nervously in his arms as Dean tried to calm down in coughing, gasping starts. 

“Fuck, that’s funny and not funny at the same time,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Man. Padre, you have no idea how much worse things would be now if I’d just given up. I said I was _tired_ of fighting my brother. Didn’t say that I’d _stopped_. Happy? Good. Chin up,” Dean said, and turned Castiel’s jaw up, with a gentle touch, the priest’s skin warm and slightly bristly over his finger. “Before I start to miss all that bowing and scraping.”

“Think of it as an isolated incident,” Castiel murmured, though he wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, even when Dean dropped his hand. “Huntsmen aren’t exactly um. Trained for, well.”

“Encounters of the Nonhuman Kind that doesn’t involve stabbing or shooting?”

“We’ve got far more in our arsenal than just stabbing and shooting,” Castiel said, and smiled tentatively when Dean chuckled. “Um. I guess. If your Plan A’s about stopping the apocalypse right _now_ … then, good luck.” 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean inclined his head, and took flight, heading blindly out, to an empty patch of beach off the coastline of a small island in the Pacific, empty of people. He folded his wings around himself, enjoying for a moment the stiff, salt breeze, the heat of the sun against his feathers, then he sighed out aloud, and stared out over the uneven sea. 

“Damn it all, Dad,” Dean muttered, to the uncaring wind. “Where the _fuck_ did you go?”


	5. Chapter 5

a.

Balthazar slouched against the fence before the small white church, and watched the knot of ambulances and sheriffs sort through the mess, bloodied bodies being ferried between the blasted out hole in the side of the church to the ambulance. He took a long, gritty drag of his cigarette, and put through a call to Anna.

"Balthazar. You all right?" 

"That concern I hear?" 

"Ha, ha." Anna's voice was tense, and Balthazar frowned. 

"Got here just in time. Barely. Snuffed the demon, think the seal's safe. The local padre got ripped up good, the church'll be closed up by police tape, no more crazy rituals." 

Anna breathed out, with a long sigh. "I didn't get that lucky. Got here too late. The police are all... all dead. The entire _town,_ got strung up on the lamp posts. Bodies were still warm, some of them. God's grace, Balthazar. I've never seen anything like it." 

Fuck. Balthazar closed his eyes briefly. The world had, according to the news, gone collectively to hell, and the Vatican was pulling weight in all directions. Faced with that, Balthazar and Anna had no choice but to try and help out, if discreetly, by patching into police radio and desperately trying to keep ahead by keeping their ear to the ground. "How's Cas?" 

"When I headed out this morning? Anxious and guilty. The usual." 

Balthazar rubbed a palm over his face. He had been on the road for nearly two days, driving out to this tiny little farming town, sleeping in his car at night, picking up supplies with cash, so as not to be traced. Castiel had tried to insist on helping, but had been veto'ed by both Balthazar and Anna. The Inquisition was looking for Castiel, that much they all knew. Not to mention that Balthazar still had mixed feelings about Castiel's persistent 'angelic' haunting. 

"Well, uh. Keep me updated when you get back. I've lots of canned stuff and I'll try and get some ammo on the way back. We can hole up in Sioux Falls for a while. Try and figure things out." 

"I don't know if we _should_ stay in Sioux Falls," Anna muttered. 

"I've no idea who or what our landlord is," Balthazar said, "But you saw it for yourself. That house's sitting naturally on some sort of dead zone, warded or whatever it is. Can't be scryed, can't be divined. Up 'till someone up top calls off the hunt, pretty sure Cassy's better off sitting his arse down there." 

There was a long silence from Anna, then she began, "Balthazar, I've been thinking. Maybe this 'Dean' really is an angel. Maybe we should try harder to call off the hunt. We've all got friends in the 23rd, and-" 

"Talk to you later, bye," Balthazar said hastily, and hung up. Coming around the bend into the small town, pulling up near the ambulances, was a beat up yellow Mazda that Balthazar would recognise _anywhere_. 

Hastily, he sidled further out of sight, knowing that he probably should sneak the hell out of Dodge before he was spotted, but Balthazar had always had a huge streak of curiosity within him that had frustrated tutors and annoyed teammates alike, and it froze him behind tall shrubbery, watching as a diminutive, sleek figure got out of the car, jaunty and dressed in a priest cassock with a red scarf slung loosely over his shoulders, hair slicked back, mouth forever curled into a sly and most un-priest-like smirk. The Gabriel Cardinal, Commander of the 23rd, always looked pointedly unassuming, and as he wandered up towards the cops with a broad and ingratiating smile, behind him, a slender Indian woman got out of the front passenger side of the car, her dark hair in curls over her sleeveless red blouse, almost as red as her lips, pressed in a flat line. Heavy gold bangles sat over her wrists, intricately carved, but it was the string of tiny skulls around her neck that was a dead giveaway. 

Fuck. 

Balthazar took in a slow breath, and as quietly as he could, edged away from the crime scene, strolling briskly towards the car he had hidden on the outskirts of town. It wouldn't take Gabriel long to figure out that one of the 23rd had been and gone: and probably wouldn't take much longer than that for him to realize that whoever it was would've been one of the three of them who'd gone on the lam. 

The farm town was quiet: everyone had either locked their doors, run off into the woods or was gawking around the crime scene, and Balthazar didn't meet anyone on his way out. His grip tightened around the stock of his shotgun, anyway, and he tried to swallow his nervousness. Half a decade since, and the mortal incarnation of Kali still freaked the hell out of him. 

To Balthazar's relief, his old black Ford was still where he left it, half-hidden behind a thick copse of trees, and he scrambled inside, starting up the engine. The car coughed to life reluctantly, and Balthazar was just about to step on the accelerator when the back passenger door opened, and an accented female voice drawled, "Hands off the wheel and up in the air." 

Balthazar grit his teeth, then swallowed his small spike of fear and managed a smile. "Kali! Long time no see-" 

"Eyes front. Hands up." 

"All right, all right-" Balthazar complied, all the while expecting piano wire to go around his throat, but his unwanted passenger was still in the back seat. "Um..." 

"Silence. Now we wait." 

"When did you start working with the 23rd-" 

"I said _silence_." 

Balthazar's arms were starting to cramp up by the time he saw Gabriel strolling out from the main street, spotting them with a sharp grin, and ambling over, taking his time, the arsehole. Gabriel let himself into the front passenger seat, settling back comfortably over patchy leather. "Hel- _lo_ , Balthy. Fancy seeing you here." 

Gabriel's total lack of surprise meant only one thing. "You've been watching me?" 

"Mm-hmm. One of Kali's many friends tipped us off when you went to a gas station yesterday to top up." 

Balthazar scowled. Kali's network of eyes and ears was unrivaled, even in a country that was technically not even her sect's territory. He should've been more careful. "Could've used the help." 

"I think you did just fine," Gabriel said brightly. "Why, them cops had nothing but praise for the 'gun-totin', god-fearin' man of the Lord' that came by and went all Exorcist on the possessed." 

"Not everyone survived," Balthazar said tightly. 

"But the seal's still there. Well done." 

"Thanks. Can I go now?" 

"Aww. C'mon. I'm your boss," Gabriel's eyes narrowed slightly. "Think of this as a surprise performance review." 

"Since when did you partner with Kali and the Thuggees?" 

"Since the world decided to fuck itself over, obviously," Gabriel said cheerfully. "The Vatican's been reaching out everywhere. We're coordinating with Kali, our Taoist friends, shamans, hell, we even reached out to our random amateur fan groups. Zachariah's decision, not mine. But hey. Even amateurs are useful. When in need, and all that." 

"Not to criticise, but shouldn't Kali have her hands full over in India?" 

"Ground zero for the apocalypse is in good old stars-and-striped 'merica this time round," Gabriel shrugged. "According to all the portents, apparently. So we were keeping an eye out, and then a couple of weeks back, blow me over but Father Castiel returns from the dead, then promptly goes to ground, along with his two besties, and everything just gets from bad to fucking batshit _crazy_. Coincidence?" 

"Wait," Balthazar blinked. "You were _expecting_ all this to happen? Since when?" 

"Portents started rolling in some time back... oh... about when you filed a Deceased in the Line of Duty report on our friend Castiel, actually." Gabriel said evenly. "Coincidence?" 

Balthazar hesitated, nibbling on his lower lip. On one hand, Castiel _was_ his closest friend. On the other hand... it wasn't as though they really did have to be enemies with the Vatican. "Fine. You're not gonna believe this." 

"Try me." 

"Make it short," Kali said curtly from the back. 

"Uh. So. Castiel went to hell when he uh. Died. I gather that he's actually turned out to be someone special after all, and-" 

"'The Righteous Man', yeah, I know that. And?" 

"And uh, Anna was pretty guilty about it all, so she somehow found the name of an angel in Enochian, and tried to summon it to help out. Nothing happened, she thought she failed, but turns out she didn't. That's all." 

"Which angel?" 

"I don't know. Uh. The name goes something like this." Balthazar tried his hand again at the pronunciation. 

"Michael," Kali muttered. "You people had Archangel _Michael's_ name just lying around for some Sister to find?" 

"Well no," Gabriel was frowning to himself. "Actually, I'm pretty sure we don't even _have_ his name recorded anywhere at all. How the hell did you know Enochian?" 

"I'm Kali incarnate," Kali retorted. "Have you met Michael, Balthazar?" 

"Uh..." Balthazar was still reeling. "Wait. That pretty boy was _Archistrategos Michael_? What the fuck?" Seriously? Balthazar felt dizzy. He hadn't been particularly _polite_ , either. It figured. The first angel that Balthazar would ever meet was an archangel, and he hadn't even been properly respectful. 

"I take that as a yes." Gabriel said, sounding resigned. "OK then. This is the real deal." 

"Told you so," Kali said shortly. 

"Bunch of us high ups got the message put forward very strongly a few days back. Dreams, visions, the works." Gabriel said glumly. "World's about to end, all hands on deck, protect the flags and all that. We're down four seals that we know of worldwide. Probably more." 

"Not good odds." Balthazar murmured, blinking. 

"You can say that again," Gabriel groaned. "Four years back, when I agreed to become the Gabriel Cardinal, I kinda didn't expect the world to end on my watch. But there you go. His Holiness is starting to freak out. But, on the bright side, attendance in churches everywhere has increased by lots." 

"That's good," Balthazar said warily. "We done?" 

"Are we?" Gabriel smiled. 

"I mean. You seem to believe that Michael pulled Castiel out of Hell." Hearing that from Kali had taken a weight off Balthazar's chest: he'd had a great deal of lingering doubt about the entire business. "So, uh. We're all friends, right? On the same side? Maybe you can call off the dogs now, boss." 

Gabriel glanced over at Kali, and Balthazar didn't dare to turn around to look at her face. "Actually, it's not that simple." 

"Sounds pretty simple to me. Angels manifesting, world ending, good against evil-" 

"The official stance, obviously, is that we're on the side of the angels and all that. However," Gabriel added mildly, "His Holiness has come to believe that in actual fact, humanity matters very little in the fight between Lucifer's forces and the Heavenly Host." 

"Wow, blow _me_ down," Balthazar said sarcastically. "I never figured, what with all that help we've ever _never_ gotten from the Heavenly Host in all my years of being a Huntsman." 

" _Blasphemy aside_ ," Gabriel said dryly, "While we're prepping for the apocalypse, his Holiness also believes that it's in the best interests of everyone to try and stop the whole problem before the big party happens." 

"Great! We're really on the same side, then." 

"And so," Gabriel added, "I want Castiel to return to the Vatican City." 

Balthazar's heart sank. "Why?" 

"Because he's a key player in said big party, what with being mentioned in most of the portents," Gabriel said blithely. "We want to keep him safe." 

"Oh yeah? That's why you sent the Inquisition, rather than say, a cheerleader group or something? Flowers? 'So glad you're alive again' cards?" 

"Balthy, Balthy," Gabriel said, with mock disapproval. "Seems to me like you're quite possibly toeing insubordination here. I'm disappointed." 

"So'm I," Balthazar said flatly. "And frankly. The whole deal with Castiel is more than a bit weird, and stinks. But I know personally what happens to any Huntsman whom the Inquisition picks up. And I'm very uncertain that you guys are picking him up for his own protection." 

"Loyalty's very good and all," Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "But we're talking about the end of the world here." 

"I know that. I also know that Michael himself told Castiel to stay where he is. So right now, I think probably we're listening to a higher authority. Tell that to his Holiness." 

"Even knowing that the angels don't possibly have our best interests in mind?" 

"I don't know who has anyone's best interests in mind," Balthazar shot back. "How about you leave us alone, and we help out where we can, and try and figure out from here where to go next?" 

"This _is_ me figuring things out," Gabriel said sharply. "I want Castiel somewhere where I can keep an eye on him." 

"I don't know, boss," Balthazar retorted. "I sure bet you tried a ton of other ways before finally giving up and tracking me down." Gabriel's jaw tensed. "So I think Castiel's doing fine where he is now. And if you'd 'scuse me, I got places to be, demons to exorcise." 

Gabriel glared at him, and for a brief and awful moment, Balthazar had a vision of himself being strangled forthwith with piano wire, his throat bleeding all the way into his collar, but then Gabriel smirked, and nodded, and patted Balthazar on the shoulder, ignoring his flinch. "All right, Balthazar. Keep up the good work. C'mon, Kali." 

Balthazar watched them go, and then pulled out onto the main road quickly, only then noticing how cold sweat had stuck his cassock damply to his back. He was going to have to ditch the car and find a new one.

b.

"I'm _fine_ ," Anna said testily, for the sixth time. "I got home without being tailed. Yes, I'm fucking _sure_."

"What's wrong?" Balthazar could hear Castiel asking anxiously in the background. "What's wrong, Anna?" 

"Okay. Uh. I'll be back soon." Balthazar mumbled, in between hauling a final bag of probably illegal weaponry into the back of his new car. Middle-of-nowhere meth labs were God's gift to people who needed cash-and-armoury upgrades. This particular lab had been sampling their own product: Balthazar hadn't even had to exert himself to take out the sentries, then the cooks, and finally abscond with cash and an impressive array of armaments. 

"Yeah, Balthazar," Anna said, and he could hear the frown in her voice. "What's wrong? You hung up pretty quick back then." 

"It's not just the Inquisition in town," Balthazar said quietly, as he closed the boot and nipped back into the front, starting up the car. "The whole fucking shebang is in for the show. I ran into the bossman in that blood ritual town." 

"The Gabriel Cardinal?" Anna sucked in a sharp breath. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine. But I'm pretty sure that he's trying to find Castiel. So I'm taking a bit of a roundabout way home, just in case. Uh. Good news is, I kinda got confirmation that 'Dean' is the real deal. Really an angel. Bad news is, pretty sure everyone has a hard on for our Cassy right now." 

"Okay. Understood." Anna exhaled irritably. "Fucking hell. The world's ending and all the 23rd can do is waste time on _us_?" 

"Kali's interested too," Balthazar said helpfully. 

" _Kali?_ " 

"Yeah. Don't ask. Seems she saw it in a portent or whatever. Anyway. Sit tight. I got supplies. I'm on my way back." 

Balthazar shut the phone off, and was about to pull back out to the main road when, in the back seat, a depressingly familiar voice drawled, "Interesting day, padre?" 

With a curse, Balthazar fumbled the phone as he flinched violently, scrabbling for his gun, but Michael, or Dean, or whatever the creature was, merely sighed. "Don't bother. You'll probably hurt yourself with the ricochet. Also," he added innocently, as he leaned forward, "You might want to be more careful around your old friends." 

"Wha-" Balthazar flinched again, as Dean grabbed him by the collar, but before he could flick up the safety of his pistol, Dean reached behind him, and pulled something tiny off his back, crushing it. Then he let Balthazar go, and dropped the little black device in the front passenger seat. 

A fucking _tracker_. Balthazar remembered Gabriel patting him on the shoulder, and scowled. "Why, that bloody _arsehole_." 

"You're welcome," Dean said, and leaned back in his seat. "And I appreciate the loyalty. Cas is going to need all the friends he can get." 

"And that includes you?" Balthazar dared to ask, but Dean merely smirked at him and disappeared, in a loud flutter of wings. 

"Shit, Cassy," Balthazar whispered, now desperately relieved to be alone. "You sure know how to pick 'em."


	6. Chapter 6

VII.

Castiel was beginning to dread dreaming. Most nights, he had bad dreams, even when he ate sleeping pills. But the worst were nights like these, where he slept only to wake again elsewhere, startlingly real. Instead of the park, or in the Hollow Rooms, Castiel was in some sort of weird grayish chamber, built of smooth stone of some sort, all alien contours. The room was large: probably about the size of the living room in the Sioux Falls house, and shaped like an egg resting on its side, with a wide curved end to Castiel's left, and a narrow pointed curve to his right. There were no windows, no doors, only a large circular opening right before him, looking out to a sky that was utterly dark and empty of stars, and overlooking a city that looked like no city that Man had ever built, all slender, tall alien towers that looked like cylinders of stone dotted with circular openings, with no other discernable difference.

The room was empty, as well. There was some sort of silvery soft sand, where he stood in the centre of the room, collected in the gentle hollow under his feet. Affixed to the wall on the opposite end of the opening, however, set on silver racks on the curved wall, were two... things. 

They looked, on Castiel's wary, closer inspection, like two large crosses, the long downward pointing crossbar as long than one of Castiel's legs, both bars a dark, rusty red. As he shuffled closer, frowning, he realized, all of a sudden, with a growing horror, that both crosses were forged of fused _bone_ , of some sort, the white ivory of it buried under ropes of sinew. Bone had been warped in a weave, somehow, to form the two crossbars, and with a growing sense of nausea, he realized that the base of the short crossbar was stippled with tiny little fingerbone tips. 

"Kinda gross, isn't it?" 

Castiel whirled around, hand groping for a gun at his hip that wasn't there. A tall man was standing at the opening, leaning a hip against the curved edge, arms folded. His hair was soft and long, curling at the edges over very broad shoulders, and he was dressed all in white, in a blindingly white jacket and trousers, barefoot on the pale gray stone. Behind his shoulders stretched two vast white wings, motionless in the wind, and his eyes were a warm, amused hazel. 

"You're not Dean," Castiel said, then flushed in embarrassment as he said it. "Uh." 

"Story of my life," the man said, amused. "Nice to meet you too, Castiel. Call me Sam." 

Sam. Samael. _Lucifer_. 

At Castiel's wide-eyed shock, Lucifer laughed, a low, harsh sound with little humour in it. "I see the bad press got ahead of me." 

"How... the seals-" 

"Oh, you guys lost maybe twenty already," Lucifer said dismissively. "That's not enough to spring me, but enough to let me dreamwalk. Wander the earth, checking in on interesting people. My brother's stashed you somewhere on the down low, but he didn't ward against dreaming. Oversight, maybe." 

"What do you want?" 

"To talk?" Lucifer smiled thinly. "I've been locked in a box for a long, long time, padre. I get bored." 

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself to wake up, but Lucifer merely laughed again. "Aww. That's no sport." 

"Talk then," Castiel said uncomfortably. Maybe if he jumped- 

"Nice try. But I'll catch you. Then this talk will just be rather more awkward, what with you in my arms but being promised to my big brother. I thought you would be more curious," Lucifer waved out at the odd, alien city beyond them. "Few mortals get a view as good as this of the Silver City." 

The Silver City! Castiel looked out over the towers with more interest. Small wonder there were no doors, no windows. This had been a city made for creatures who could all fly. "This is your room?" Castiel asked then, clenching his fists. "Funny sort of interior décor." 

"I think I like you more than the previous you," Lucifer decided. "You've got a smart mouth. Your previous version was just a crazy arsehole with way too many wives. And don't even get me started on the first guy. But no. It's not my room. It's Michael's, actually." 

"What?" 

"I thought maybe you should go into this with your eyes open," Lucifer said, and there was a slyness to his voice, a terrible sort of _knowing_ to his obvious malice. "Didn't you figure things out? You're meant to be a tool of Heaven." 

"I already am a tool of Heaven." 

"Nah. You? You're one cog in the Big Script," Lucifer noted dismissively. "And before that, you were one cog in the crazy scheme that Raphael and Gabriel... sorry, 'Bobby' and 'Ellen'... cooked up to try and keep the mortals under control. The good news is," Lucifer said, as he pushed away from the door, ignoring how Castiel flinched away, backing off, "You actually do have a choice in all this. Funny sort of twist that dear old Dad coded into the Big Damn Script, but there you go," he added bitterly. "All the power in Creation, and Michael and I still have to follow the fucking rules. But you? Humans don't _have_ hard-coded rules." 

"What sort of choice?" Castiel asked nervously, as Lucifer walked right up to the closest, grotesque bar of bone and sinew, wings folding over his back. 

"One that'll come up sooner than you think." Lucifer smiled at him encouragingly. "You can walk away from all this. You can say 'no'." 

"'No' to what?" 

"You're Michael's Sword, Castiel. You're from a bloodline bred for one purpose. To be steeped in Hell, tempered by mortality, broken by righteousness, and finally, reforged into a weapon worthy of an Archangel." Lucifer jerked his chin at the crossbars, his smile now cruel. "That's where you're going to end up, on the road that you're sitting on right now." 

Nausea churned in Castiel's gut, and he staggered back against the wall. "No. You're the Prince of Lies. That can't be true." 

"Why do Noah's journals end right before he makes his choice?" Lucifer taunted. "'Cos there wasn't much left of him to do any kinda writing, that's why." 

"But... but Michael said that Noah lived, years after the end, and-" 

"Sure he lived," Lucifer cut in. "But he didn't live as a _human_. The reason why blades like this are fatal to my kind, even archangels, is because they're hilted in mortal pain and bladed with a mortal soul. But they don't last. Original battery is flawed, you could say. Mortal." 

"Michael wouldn't do that to a human." 

"Oh, sweet innocent lamb, the things you don't know about Michael," Lucifer said, with a sneer, and then he looked around sharply as the Silver City faded away, into the warm summer afternoon at the park. Before the swings stood Dean, green eyes narrowed and hard, wings flared aggressively. "Looks like I've outstayed my welcome, then. Hello, brother." 

"Hello," Dean said coldly. "How's it keeping?" 

"Oh, you know. Same thing, same thing. Seeing as you're the one who fucking _stashed_ me in there," Lucifer bit out, and the venom in his words made Castiel flinch back. 

"And that's where you're gonna stay. This time round," Dean shot back. 

"You and your Plan As," Lucifer said, with a rumbling laugh. "Always with your Plan As. Never gonna learn." 

"Oh, I've learned," Dean said evenly, and traced a symbol in the air: abruptly, Lucifer vanished, though the ghost of his laughter seemed to linger derisively in the warm afternoon dream. Angrily, the archangel raked a hand through his hair, looking away and folding his wings tight across his back. "Sorry about that. I should've been careful." 

"Twenty seals have already broken?" 

"Yeah." Dean let out a bitter laugh. "It's not great out there." 

"And your Plan A?" 

"I'm working on it, I said!" Dean snapped, then he took in a sharp, high breath. "Okay. Sorry. Didn't mean to get that ticked off. Not your fault." 

"Sounds like it didn't work the previous time," Castiel said softly, unwilling to let go of the point. "Sounds like you've tried all this before." 

"Oh yes?" Dean bared his teeth, clenching his fists. "And so?" 

"And so," Castiel said, appalled at himself for doing this, for talking back to _Archistrategos_ Michael, "Maybe you should do something different this time. And accept some _help_. I'm not made of porcelain. I'm a fully trained Huntsman." 

Dean's wings snapped open, kicking up a wind that flattened the grass around Castiel, whipping his hair back, but then he reluctantly closed them, looking away, jaw working. "You're only _human_ ," Dean grit out. 

"Sounds like I'm more than that," Castiel challenged. "And I think I deserve a chance to avert my fate, don't I? Come on, Dean," Castiel added, struggling to sound reasonable. "What's the harm? You've already tried it your way at least once, haven't you? It didn't work then. Maybe you just need more help with your 'Plan A'. Might make the difference." 

"Fine," Dean said finally. "But I'm gonna have to do something to you and your friends to keep you hidden away, even when you're not in Sioux Falls. And it's gonna hurt." 

"I can't speak for them. But do what you need to, to me." 

"Right, then." Dean said grimly. "On your head be it. I'll see you on the other side, padre. Talk to your friends first, then call me when you're ready. We should all have a chat." 

His wings flared, as if to fly, and Castiel said hastily. "Dean. About... about what Lucifer showed me. Did you see it?" 

"I can read it off your mind. You're pretty loud. Sorry. I should'a been keeping tabs. Got sloppy. Assumed you were safe." 

"I..." Castiel sucked in a slow breath. "It was all a lie, wasn't it? The Silver City. The... the things. In the room." 

Dean eyed him uncomfortably, for so long that Castiel felt his heart plummet all the way to his stomach. "Sorry, padre," Dean said finally. "If it would'a helped, you'd never have known what it all meant until after the fact." 

"It. It hurts?" 

"Everything in this world hurts," Dean said softly. "But I would've kept you from the worst of it. And like I said. Plan B." 

"And it has to be me? That sword?" 

"Yeah." 

"When does that happen?" 

"Hopefully never-" 

"When, Dean? Please." 

"Uh well," Dean dropped his eyes, his wings shuffling uncomfortably. "Pretty sure the soft deadline is around when all the seals break, and the hard deadline would be hopefully before all the Horsemen manifest. I need you... er... my blade to close them away." 

"And... what do you need? To start? I've got to be alive?" 

"You got to be dead, actually," Dean admitted, still not meeting his eyes. "Uh. Effectively dead. It's complicated. But body uh. Intact. Obviously. And uh, you got to say yes. Beforehand." 

"To what?" 

"To Plan B. All of it. Fact is," Dean added awkwardly. "If I let you walk around outside of Sioux Falls? I'll also kinda want to do it on condition of you saying yes. Just in case. 'Cos otherwise, if some demon gets lucky before you give me the go ahead? We're gonna be shit out of luck." 

" _You_ are, you mean." 

"Same deal." 

"Is it really?" Castiel asked evenly. "Sounds so far like the Heavenly Host is more interested in preparing for a battle than trying to save lives." 

To Castiel's surprised, Dean actually chuckled. "Oh man. I've missed this part of you like you won't believe. You always gave me shit about this. But the thing is," Dean added soberly, "For us, this war ain't a sprint, it's an endurance marathon." 

"I can say yes now but not die yet?" 

"Yeah. Can't go back on it, though. Look. If you want to think it over, go ahead. Or if you wanna forget it all and stay in Sioux Falls, even better. Remember, you're the one who's trying to insist on helping out." 

"Right." Castiel said, and took in a deep breath. "Let's hear it, then. What's Plan A?" 

"I wanna find God," Dean said simply. "And then, I'm gonna punch him in the mouth."

VIII.

Castiel waited until safely after breakfast to spring The Choice on Balthazar and Anna. There was, as it turned out, a surprising lack of freaking out.

"Stands to reason," Balthazar said gloomily, perched at the desk in the Sioux Falls house and surrounded by old books. The house's library had contained a great deal of literature about the end of the world, angels, Purgatory and monsters, and it had been good reading, if nothing else. 

"What does?" Anna was seated at the window seat, also with a book in her lap. 

"That you got snatched out of Hell for a worse fate. Nothing nice ever happens to us." 

"It's not a worse fate," Castiel said patiently. "Not if it can still save the world." 

"Or what's left of it," Anna pointed out. 

"Cassy, Cassy," Balthazar shook his head. "God damn but you're caught between a rock and a hard place. While everything's on fire." 

"Don't blaspheme," Castiel muttered, if under his breath. 

"The way I see it," Anna said dubiously, "Finding God does seem to be um. The logical alternative. God is the architect of this cycle. If He can be found, maybe He can be persuaded to stop everything. _Not_ by punching him in the mouth. If that's even possible." 

"The way _I_ see it," Balthazar said cheerfully, "God is a dick, and if we find him, he'll probably just smite the lot of us. Or make us sacrifice each other to flaming shrubbery to prove our devotion." 

" _Balthazar_ ," Castiel said, shocked. 

"Don't you get snippy on me," Balthazar sniffed. "I've seen enough death and suffering in the world. What surprises me is that angels actually do exist, and the whole shebang. But the fact that they don't actually give a shit is not a surprise at all." 

"So you're saying we should think of another Plan?" Anna narrowed her eyes. 

"Nope. I'm saying that Plan A makes logical sense. It's just doomed to abject failure. But you never know until you try. And besides. It's between doing fuck all here, or trying to help out on the side while dodging the Inquisition out there, or actually trying to do something constructive to nip it all in the bud. So, I'm all for it. Bring on the pain, whatever it is. But just so your friend knows, I'm kinda really fond of all my bits. So I'll be really pissed off if any bit of me gets reformed into a weapon or whatever." 

Anna nodded slowly. "I'm with you as well. Only the author of the script can change the ending. We have to at least make an appeal." 

Finding God. The very thought of it felt like certain insanity. But still. It was an insanity that an archangel - _the_ archangel - had committed himself to. And Castiel _had_ said from the start that he wanted to help. "All right then. We're decided. Dean?" 

Balthazar flinched back with an oath as Dean appeared, in a roar of wings, though the wings themselves were nowhere to be seen as he appeared on the couch in the room, lounging against the cushions. "You called?" Dean asked, and winked, and from where Castiel stood, just a few feet away, he hoped to God that he wasn't blushing. 

"Wait one minute," Balthazar said quickly. "This uh. Pain thing. What is it?" 

"I just need to burn some symbols on your bones. They'll keep you under the radar from everything." 

"Burn _what_ now on my _bones_?" 

"It's non-intrusive. It'll just hurt for a moment," Dean said, which turned out to be a bad understatement, ten minutes later, as Castiel curled up in a fetal position on the couch, breathing tightly. Balthazar was sheet white, and Anna had her knees pulled up, breathing shallowly. "Done," Dean said apologetically, sitting on the couch and stroking Castiel's arm soothingly. "Sorry. Sorry. I would take the pain away if I could. Sorry." 

Gradually, it did fade, and embarrassed again, Castiel pulled away reluctantly from Dean's warm touch. "It's all done now?" he rasped. "We're 'under the radar'?" 

"Yeah." 

"Kali has spies everywhere," Balthazar said glumly, still rubbing his arms, as though chasing the ghost of agony. "Won't work against those." 

"I'll keep an eye on you people. Or send a friend. Thinking about that bit." Now Dean turned to Castiel, his eyes sober; sad, even. "That last thing we talked about. Sorry. I think I've got to call it in. Just in case, y'know?" 

"Right." Castiel swallowed. "What do you need me to say?" 

"One sec." Dean glanced at Balthazar and Anna. "D'you guys mind?" 

They glanced at Castiel, and he nodded at them. Reluctantly, Balthazar and Anna left, Balthazar heading outside, Anna down the trapdoor to the panic room, leaving them both alone. 

"Okay, padre," Dean said gently. "Last chance to change your mind." 

"I don't feel like I actually have a choice. Eventually, this is what I'll choose," Castiel said, and felt the truth of it in his own words. Instinctively, deep in his bones, he trusted Dean, perhaps blindly, certainly resolutely, as though they were linked, by some sort of profound bond. "Do what you must." 

"Here." To Castiel's surprise, Dean pulled him close, leaning their foreheads together, uncomfortably intimate - and then he could... _feel_ a question, soul deep, burned around the edges of his mind, like a clarion call, a beckoning, and he opened himself to it, taking it in, no hesitation, no more fear. This felt like a blessing again, as Dean pressed an imprint on his mind, though it didn't burn silver: this was more like an iron price, a claim, etched into every inch of his soul. Tears had ebbed at the edges of his eyes, Castiel realized dully, as Dean shifted away, and he heaved out a dry sob, looking away sharply, overwhelmed as thumbs smeared wet tracks over his cheeks, and lips pressed over his forehead. 

Dean's eyes were wet as well, Castiel noticed, and even as he stared dumbly, Dean offered him a wan smile, and rested his cheek on Castiel's shoulder. "Man. Doing that always used to feel like I was giving up." 

"This time will be different," Castiel decided, and dared to reach up, to curl his fingers lightly through Dean's surprisingly soft hair. He would make it so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I did recently read The Vorrh. ^^;;


	7. Chapter 7

i.

Anael 'Anna' Milton had been born into the American branch of a huge Italian family, one that had contributed scions to upper levels of the Vatican Church for close to one and a half centuries. Her parents had settled quietly in small town California to open a fish and chips shop, as far away as they could from the 'family business', and for most of her young life Anna had no real impression of her mother's extended family, only that there had been a schism of some sorts, an old one that had festered. Her father had been Buddhist. That, she had sensed, even then, had been the problem.

She had coasted quietly through high school and qualified easily into U-Cal, majoring in psychology, and then she had come home one break to find police tape around her house, a knot of confused officers, and more clergymen than she had ever seen in one place in her life. As it turned out, secretly hunting monsters had been one habit that Anna's mother had never quite been able to drop from her old life, and this time round, she hadn't been lucky enough. Anna had dropped out of U-Cal, rejoined the family business, and up until recently, had never, ever stopped toeing the party line. 

"Right," Dean said, when Anna and Balthazar were gathered awkwardly outside the Sioux Falls house. "Here's the thing. I can't be watching you guys all the time. I'm chasing my own leads. And I'm guessing you guys probably need to do some hunting too along the way, yeah?" 

"Yeah," Balthazar echoed, looking as wary as Anna felt. Beside Dean, Castiel looked strangely at... _peace_ , for the first time since he had returned from Hell. Gone was the raw guilt and the twitchy, nervous self-doubt. The calm poise of the leader Anna remembered was back, and she felt herself relaxing instinctively. 

It helped that Dean looked more or less absolutely human, even _sounded_ human, with human mannerisms. "So I'm going to stick you all with a babysitter. Don't get too excited, and don't be mean. She's very nice." 

"Look," Balthazar growled. "We're _Huntsmen_. We don't need a babysitter." 

"Pretty sure you do. Unless you're confident over going toe to toe with Kali again? I mean, since you put up such a _great_ show the last time." 

Balthazar scowled, and looked over at Castiel for support, but Castiel was only tilting his head. "I thought you made us invisible to angels." 

"Not invisible. Just untrackable. That's why you're going to carry a pager and so is your babysitter." Dean produced two pagers from his pockets, tossing one to Castiel. "Think of it also as a really fun, quick way to reach me if you actually have anything to share." Dean's tone made it clear that he didn't think that this was going to happen. 

"So uh. Finding God. Where do we start?" Balthazar asked. 

"I don't know," Dean said, with archly brittle cheer. "I mean, you guys clearly think you have a shot at finding my Father, even though I've tried for fucking centuries. So, have at it. Jo!" 

There was a loud flutter of wings, then a blonde woman was standing beside Dean, her smile bright, flax-gold hair tied back in a messy knot behind her head, dressed in a pale blue blouse, black jeans and boots. Dean passed her the pager, which she tucked into a jeans pocket. "Righto," Dean patted Jo on the shoulder. "Jo, meet Castiel and friends. Castiel and friends, Jo. I'm off." 

"Er," Castiel began, but Dean had already vanished. 

"Hello, 'Castiel and friends'," Jo said, and grinned when Balthazar grimaced. "Relax. I know your names. Balthazar and Anael, right?" 

"Anna," Anna corrected, curious all over again. Jo too looked and sounded exactly human. 

"How is it that angels have names like 'Jo' and 'Dean'? I mean, Dean's really Michael, isn't he?" 

"Oh, that." Jo wrinkled her nose. "It was kinda an experiment during the last cycle that ended up catching on even though it didn't work the way we wanted it to. Dean had an idea that maybe we could stop the cycle if we - angels - evolved. Became more like God's final project. Humans and self-determination. Not so much Team Love and Peace and Feathers but Team Free Will, yeah?" 

"… I did not understand that at all." Balthazar blinked. 

"I didn't really understand it either," Jo admitted. "But like I said, it caught on. I mean. The Big Three were all doing it. So the rest of us did it too. I mean. Why not, yeah?" 

"So you cast off your names," Castiel said slowly. "Picked your own." 

"Not cast off, not really. Just. Picked a new set, that's all. Studied humans way more closely. Tried to learn initiative and all that." Jo lifted a shoulder into a light shrug. "It didn't stop the last cycle, but it's made us more prepared for this time around, I think. I mean, Bobby and Ellen would never have come up with the Vatican Plan before. We've tried to understand how mortals work, so we can work with them when the next cycle comes." 

"Doesn't sound like it's actually happening," Balthazar said sceptically. "The Big Angelic Intervention." 

"Well, not yet noticeably, maybe." Jo admitted. "We've got a limited amount of resources and kinda need to prep for the big throwdown." 

"If it happens," Castiel murmured. 

"Anyway," Jo said brightly, "Where do we start? Ooh, I know. You humans have something called 'the internets of everything', right? You can 'search' that, right? How does that work? This is going to be so exciting!" 

" _Please_ stop," Balthazar moaned. "Before I shoot myself." 

"Don't mind him," Anna said, hiding a smile. "He's British." 

"Anyway," Castiel ignored them both, "Police radio noted there's been some sort of mass disturbance in a town about a couple hours away. We'll deal with that first." 

As they turned out, they were too late for their first pit stop, although it gave Anna a front row seat to what angels, even babysitter angels, were really capable of. Some wannabe witches had summoned up a demon, breaking one of the seals, which had promptly murdered a quarter of the town by the time they had rolled into the main street. Jo had sat back at first, content to watch as Anna, Balthazar and Castiel got tossed around like dolls, but when the creature had gone for her, she had simply reached over, pressed a palm over the demon's head, and blasted it to oblivion. 

Easy as you fucking please. 

"Wow," Balthazar said slowly, even as he gingerly picked himself out from the wreckage of a fence. "You could've helped, I don't know, _earlier_?" 

"Samhain should be easily handled by Huntsmen, I thought," Jo said, with her bright and peppy smile. "It's killable, can be hurt by silver, and visible to humans. Nothing to it, right?" 

"I'll give you fucking 'nothing to it'," Balthazar muttered, but thankfully shoved his silver dagger back in its sheath instead of trying to make good on his threat. "Great leader, I have an idea," he told Castiel. "How 'bout the next stop, we just toss the angel at the monster and _we_ sit back?" 

"We got here too late to protect the seal." Castiel was, as always, immediately fixated on failure. "Anna, where's the next one?" 

"Take your pick," Anna said, switching on the radio. "It's endless, though. And for all you know, we might just cross paths with other Huntsmen. I think we should start with our main project, rather than get repeatedly sidetracked. After all, we're in a losing war of attrition where the seals are concerned." 

"True," Balthazar grunted, dusting himself off next to the car. "'Cept that we have no idea where to go." 

"Michael...er... Dean had to have some idea of where to start, right?" Anna glanced at Jo. "I mean, he's been on some sort of track all this while." 

"A track that didn't work," Castiel pointed out. "In either cycle." 

"How good's your Hebrew, Cas?" Anna asked. 

Castiel pulled a face. "You know the answer to that. Basic. Those journals were a painful struggle." 

"Michael, or _Mikha'el_ , means 'who is like God?'" Anna pointed out. "It's usually considered to be a rhetorical question." 

"So what," Balthazar said testily. "You're saying it's not rhetorical? Maybe Michael really is God?" 

"No he's not," Jo said instantly, even as Castiel said thoughtfully, "I've heard some theologians discuss the possibility that 'Michael' is also the 'Son of God'. Jesus." 

There was a snicker from Jo, and all the Huntsmen glanced sharply at her. "Sorry," she said, with a gasp, and covered her mouth. "It's just. That book. Hell, but Bobby never did think it'll get _that_ crazily popular. Or misinterpreted." 

"Do I want to know, or should I prepare myself for a crisis of faith?" Balthazar drawled. 

"Well, the long and short of it is, you guys got your hands on the history bit, and wrote it out of whack - that's the Old Testament. Then Bobby decided to tack on the Love and Peace bit - that's the New Testament - in the hopes of getting everyone on the Happy Forgive Thy Neighbor train." Jo shrugged. "It's a huge mess. Bobby's actually pretty sorry about it. It's successfully managed to fuck up tons of you guys for _ages_." 

Castiel pulled a face, as though he had just eaten something sour, and Anna added quickly, " _What I was trying to say is_ ," she said sharply, "Theologians often think of the _rhetorical_ question as signifying that Michael's purpose is to help others find faith. To find _God_ , by considering the question of faith itself. So. Maybe that's just a sneaky way of looking at it. Maybe Michael can't see God, even if he does find God. It's against his nature." 

Jo opened her mouth, then she frowned, and tilted her head, closing it. "Umm. That's actually a pretty good point." 

"Does his name mean the same thing in Enochian?" Anna asked hopefully. 

"Yeah. Pretty close. And I guess it'll help narrow things down," Jo added happily, "If we've got some places to check out, rather than having to comb over the whole world." 

"If some of the 'history bit' is true," Castiel said cautiously, "Maybe we can narrow it down further. God specifically appears to man in only a handful of instances in the book. Did those truly happen?" 

"Umm." Jo scuffed her toes awkwardly on the asphalt. "Maybe?" 

"Isn't that a yes/no question?" Balthazar frowned. 

"Well uh, sometimes it really is God, sometimes it's us... keeping appearances... and stuff...." 

"You're saying," Balthazar drawled, "That angels aren't above pranking some poor arsehole for the hell of it." 

"Maybe...?" 

"That's it," Balthazar muttered. "I'm converting to Buddhism."

ii.

Anna collapsed into the couch the moment Jo dropped them off in the Sioux Falls house, exhausted. Dimly, she could hear Jo mentioning something to Castiel, but she closed her eyes until the sound of great wings had come and gone.

"Sooo," Balthazar said, "If I order in pizza, will that break the fancy angel wards on this place?" 

"Probably will." Anna said, without looking up from staring at the ceiling. "How can you still _eat_? My stomach feels like it's trying to crawl out from my _throat_." 

"I'm always hungry." Balthazar said defensively. "Crazy angel teleportation notwithstanding. _Repeated_ teleportation, haring around places everywhere fruitlessly, even. Speaking of which, she totally could've zapped us over to the Samhain town, just saying." 

"Only if you wanted me to vomit on the demon instead of trying to exorcise it." Anna shot back. 

"I'll make dinner," Castiel said soothingly. 

"With what? Fried canned food? Ooh, I know! _Poached_ canned food. Or... or _baked_ canned food-" Balthazar trailed off. "Seriously. I'm pretty sure eating this much tinned crap is bad for us." 

"Drive over to the town, order pizza, and come back," Anna decided. "No wait. I want a burger. Get a burger for me. And coffee. Lots of coffee. And chocolate. Oh. And. More toilet paper. And soap and toothpaste. The works." 

Grumbling and bitching, Balthazar slunk off eventually, in search of food that was not tinned. As the car that Jo had helpfully left in the right spot outside started up, Castiel let out a low sigh of relief that made Anna giggle. A depression near her knees told Anna that Castiel had sat down on the couch, but as she glanced at him, she sobered up as she realized that Castiel had his head in his hands. 

"Something wrong?" Anna asked. 

"All this. I." Castiel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "It was all my fault." 

God preserve her. Balthazar was far better at this than Anna was. "No it wasn't," Anna said reasonably. 

"I spilled blood in Hell. Broke the first seal." 

"And you took a while to do it too," Anna shrugged. "I would've done it way sooner. Relax. The way I see it, wasn't this always meant to happen? I mean. This is the third time." 

"I don't understand it at all," Castiel whispered. "What is the _point_ of doing this? Let alone three times? Why did our God create cycles?" 

"Apocalypse situations are pretty common in most global religions?" Anna hazarded, but when Castiel didn't answer, she added, "Answer was right in what Jo said this afternoon. You heard her. Only the Old Testament's maybe real. And God wasn't exactly Mister Love and Peace in that part of the Holy Book, was he?" 

Behind his hands, Anna could see that Castiel was managing a wan little smile. "I suppose not." 

"Gives you perspective," Anna noted philosophically. "Maybe all those doubters had a point. If God's an arsehole, what's the point?" 

"Don't blaspheme," Castiel muttered, though he sounded uncertain. 

"I mean, if you really want to follow the Book precisely, we can't wear clothes made out of more than one sort of fabric... eat fat... lying... getting tattoos... there's no divorce... Leviticus really gets around," Anna said flippantly. "Slavery, sexism, all that is OK, though, if you want to read the Book literally." 

"The Book contains a corrupted message, according to Jo," Castiel said uncertainly. "It's by no means a measure of God's grace." 

"Considering the first of his angels wants to 'punch him in the face', I'm not sure if it isn't." 

"What's the point of it all, then?" 

Anna bit down on a frustrated sigh. She _definitely_ wasn't equipped to deal with a crisis of faith. "We do what we've always done. Stop the bad things from happening. Save everyone - regardless of _their_ faith. Balthazar and I didn't join this line of work because we're crazy about the hosannas and the biblethumping. We joined because the Huntsmen are the best at what they do. We've helped a lot of people, all of us. Who cares what the big script is? Let's get our shit together and keep doing what we're great at." 

There was a long, uneven silence, punctuated by Castiel's hoarse breaths, then he said softly, "Thanks. I needed that. It's just... all this so far. It's overwhelming. I've been with the Church all my life. Being... like this, hiding in here? It just feels wrong to me. Like I'm rebelling." 

Anna snorted. "Hardly. We're still fighting the good fight. So what if we're not filing paperwork or reporting in to Zachariah every few days? Tell you what. We'll just file an extra long report after all this is over, all right? With footnotes." 

"Assuming we get through all this." 

"If we don't? I don't think old Zach is really going to give that much of a damn, then. Hey," Anna added, as she pulled herself up on the couch, and hugged Castiel, leaning against his back. "'Chin up'," she said, imitating Balthazar's accent, and felt another soft laugh shake through Castiel's frame. "Look at it this way. _Archistrategos Michael_ himself seems to think that you're special. If that's not some kind of ultimate priestly ego booster, I don't know what will be." 

"All right," Castiel said finally. "I think I'll... I'll... there's a great many books in this house. Even older versions of the Bible, ones I've never seen. We should go through them. And I should ask Dean maybe for a list of the places he's gone to. I think your idea, that he's the one who'll never be able to personally find God, has something of truth in it. If we walk in his footsteps, maybe we'll be the ones who can find something - or someone - to believe in." 

"Or punch in the mouth," Anna added cheerfully, and laughed when Castiel sputtered.


	8. Chapter 8

IX.

Castiel had once dreaded dreams like these. A sinner's dream, of handsome smiles and bared flesh, fingers too coarse to be female, a smile too knowing, too sharp for innocence. He used to wake breathless and sweating and guilty, having to resort to hours of prayer to ease the taint on his soul.

Now, however, Castiel felt only a vague sense of relief as the dreamworld dropped him in a bed in some vaguely remembered motel, coarse bed linens under his palms and the backs of his knees as a warm hand rubbed intimately up his inner thigh, the tips of each broad finger pressing into his flesh. Castiel followed the sleek line of a sleekly muscled arm up, and up, almost expecting an unfocused face, and his breath caught tightly in his throat as he saw that it was _Dean_ , laughing, green eyes full of gorgeous mischief. 

"How about you lie back, padre," Dean purred, and in the dream Castiel could barely focus on what Dean was wearing, eyes fixed on the perfection of Dean's face, the stretch of his black wings, long enough to press against the walls of the motel. 

"Dean, I can't," Castiel began, then frowned, breath hitching higher as Dean's hand pressed in the juncture between Castiel's thigh and groin, fingers too close, too damning. "I took a vow." 

"Thought angels don't count," Dean said, his voice like every whisper of sin. "Ain't that in your Book?" 

" _Dean_ ," Castiel groaned, a prayer, a plea, and Dean's hand curled higher yet - then stopped. Biting out a whine of protest, Castiel grabbed feebly for Dean's wrist, only to freeze against the bed as Dean tilted his head, blinking, as though surprised, and as Castiel watched, the dream crystallized around them, turning sharper, definition tracing into the vague contours of the bed, the walls. 

Oh. _Oh_. 

Flushing in sheer embarrassment, Castiel jerked backwards on the bed, so violently that the backs of his shoulders slammed up against the headboard. Dean flinched, wings snapping up behind him, even as his clothes took on definition as well, a leather jacket that Castiel hadn't seen yet, a gray shirt, scuffed old blue jeans that hugged Dean's long, long legs. Castiel jerked his gaze to his palms, squeezing his eyes tight, trying to will himself to wake up, and grit his teeth as Dean let out a long, low chuckle. 

"It's all right, Cas," Dean said mildly. 

"I'm sorry, I-" 

"It's actually rather flattering," Dean said, and laughed again when Castiel let out a strangled noise. "Aww, c'mon. Don't freak out. Here." Castiel found himself pulled inexorably into Dean's arms, tucked under the angel's chin, huge wing ridges bumping briefly under his thighs as Dean settled comfortably against the headboard behind him. "Seriously," Dean added, as Castiel turned his face into Dean's shoulder, ears still burning in humiliation. "I'm not mad." 

"Why did you even..." 

"Heard you say my name. Or so I thought." Dean patted Castiel's back soothingly. 

"Sorry," Castiel whispered, and his chin was tipped up by a finger, his gaze forced up to meet Dean's gentle amusement, far more damning than anger. 

"Hey," Dean said more softly, and when Castiel tried to squirm out of his grip, Dean tightened his grasp slightly. "Seriously, padre. You need to lighten up." 

" _Lighten up?_ " Castiel asked, incredulous. "I'm a sinner-" 

"Aren't we all?" Dean asked wryly, and Castiel froze up all over again when Dean kissed him lightly on the forehead. "Believe me. This isn't exactly a shock. I can hear your thoughts, remember?" 

"I... but this is against the Holy Book," Castiel said blankly, as the kiss trailed teasingly lower, to the tip of his nose. A small, ugly hope curled within him, anxious and pained. "Dean, you can't." 

"Leviticus again, eh." Another low laugh. "Seriously. If we get through this cycle, I think I'm gonna get Bobby to re-release that Book. Call it the Definitive No-Funny-Rules Edition." 

"Words like that," Castiel said quietly, evenly, "They're hurtful." 

"Oh, preacher," Dean stroked his arm soothingly, "They ain't _our_ words. All we wanted was for man to do no evil. Things that don't hurt anyone ain't evil. But to be cruel to people, to deny them rights, to do them harm, to hurt them, just because they're different... 'cos of who they love, or what they believe in, shit like that? Now _that's_ evil. And you know what?" he added quietly. "God made us angels, true. And he made people. But he didn't make demons." 

"Then-" 

"'Cos there's no cruelty quite like human cruelty," Dean continued, as though Castiel hadn't spoken. "That's why all demons used to be people. As above, so below, eh? Only people have that kinda darkness within them. Just look around your world. From the small cruelties to the big, there's nothing quite like what humanity's capable of." 

"And you try to save us yet?" 

"Could be I'm programmed to do it," Dean tapped playfully at Castiel's temple, but then he sobered up. "There's the good and the bad. And I don't think the bad's quite enough justification to let the good get burned up too. Still. I'm two down and batting for a third failure right now." 

"The world's still running. No failure yet." 

"There you go," Dean kissed Castiel on the tip of his nose again. "Think on the bright side." 

"Unlike you," Castiel gave up trying to surreptitiously squirm away, settling down against Dean's surprisingly warm embrace instead, "I only have one chance at this. That I'm conscious of. Besides. You didn't fail those last two times. You still stopped the... stopped your brother from winning." 

"That's looking at mass human extinction with kinda a low bar." Dean said ruefully, "But nevermind about that. How're you holding up, padre? Sorry I was so curt with you before. I don't like this bit in the cycle. Puts me in a mood. Sorry I took it out on you guys." 

"What bit?" Castiel asked, puzzled. "The world's still around. Only half of the seals are broken." 

"Yeah, exactly. This slow but accelerating slide to the end. Knowing there's nothing I can really do to stop it." 

This time, it was Castiel who dared to lean up, to press a kiss to the tip of Dean's nose, to make an angel laugh, and then Dean started to press closer, head tipping down, and Castiel felt like his chest was tightening all the way up, like he could no longer breathe- "Wait," Dean murmured. "Not in here." 

"What," Castiel began, confused, a little disappointed, then he yelped as Dean pressed a palm over his forehead- 

-and he woke up with a gasp, tangled in his sheets, sweating, disoriented, flailing for a moment as he dimly registered a weight over him, then Dean flicked the bedside light on, and pressed lightly down on Castiel's arms, and God, an _angel_ was straddling Castiel's _hips_ on the bed and- 

"Steady on there," Dean whispered, a roguish smile on his soft lips, shadows thrown against the whorl of his great dark wings, arched in the air like a slice of deep shadow. "Don't panic." 

It took Castiel several moments of breathing exercises to start to calm down, then he murmured, "Dean. I'm a sinner. I'm unworthy," he added, as Dean merely smirked and leaned down, "I'm a priest." 

"You're the Righteous Man," Dean answered, as he trailed a kiss over the jump of Castiel's pulse, in his neck, "You're the Michael Sword," he added, as lips pressed against Castiel's jaw. "You are mine - you've always been mine. And you need to forgive yourself," Dean whispered, now against the shell of Castiel's ear. "For the sins you were always meant to mete. And for the sins that have never been sins at all." 

Castiel let out a soft and wounded cry as Dean tugged at the flesh of his ear with his teeth, playful, then Dean let out another of his low, rough chuckles as he pressed on, to kiss Castiel full on the mouth, almost chaste, warm palms pressed to Castiel's cheeks, and Castiel rubbed his hands up Dean's unmoving arms, restless, and dared to press further up, to curl his fingers wonderingly into thick and lustrous feathers. 

Dean made a rumbling sound of pleasure and licked into Castiel's mouth, and then it was all that Castiel could do but hold on, palms flat over the wing ridges and moaning as Dean tasted him, slow and thorough, licking over his teeth, stroking through and over his tongue, wet and sloppy and divine. Embarrassment seemed a distant memory to Castiel now as he felt himself harden, glad for pyjamas and the quilt between them, pulling blindly at Dean's lapels as Dean set teeth this time to Castiel's pulse and bit down. 

"Oh... _oh_ Dean-" 

Dean gave Castiel's throat another lingering, biting kiss that Castiel knew would leave its mark in the morning, and when he spoke, Castiel shivered as he felt warmth tickle his neck. "Hey, padre. All right so far?" 

"Yes," Castiel said, bewildered that Dean was even asking, and Dean let out a huffing laugh. 

"'Cos I'm maybe kinda curious, if you get my drift," Dean reached between them, patting a palm over the quilt right over Castiel's thickened cock, and smiled when Castiel squeaked and bucked. "And since it's the end of the world and all. But if you're not gonna be comfortable with it, just let me know. It's fine by me either way." 

"Dean," Castiel wound his arms around the back of Dean's neck, and as he looked into sober green eyes he felt the last of his doubt sunder away, felt his guilt and fear and self-loathing fade, if only for now. "If we can't... stop the cycle. Then I won't be human for very much longer. So... so I'll like to. Please." 

"Don't ever think that you have to beg me for anything," Dean said softly, but fiercely, and this time when he kissed Castiel it was as though he wanted to devour him, shoving the quilt aside, biting down over Castiel's murmured protests, chuckling against swelling lips at Castiel's muffled yelp of shock as their clothes disappeared, skin to skin overwhelming, glorious. 

"Getting impatient?" 

"Here's you thinking my clothes actually work the way yours do," Dean shot back, kissing down to Castiel's throat again, and Castiel dimly recalled, for a moment, the make-seem of the car that didn't technically function, and then he had his hands curled in Dean's wings again, smiling tentatively as Dean purred and rubbed himself against Castiel's hip, his arousal thick and hot and long. It was... strange, Castiel decided, as he reached down to touch Dean, stranger yet, as Dean grasped them both, dry at first until Castiel winced, them his hands were slick with some sort of oil, willed up by the angel, his grip careful as he stroked them together, leaning up on the elbow of his free hand to watch Castiel whine and buck for it, jerking his hips up into the exquisite pressure, already dazed, blood singing. 

When Castiel spilled it was far too quick, far too sudden; Dean clapped a hand hastily over his open-mouthed cry, watching with a curious sort of open hunger as Castiel arched, hands frantic on Dean's shoulders, pumping messily into Dean's beautiful fingers, like blasphemy itself made flesh. 

"Breathe," Dean said, amused, as Castiel fought for air, blinking, trying to calm down. Dean lifted his hand, for a moment making as though to wipe it on the sheets, then he hummed to himself and licked one finger clean, instead, _tasting_ Castiel, and Castiel whimpered against Dean's palm, lust pulsing through him again, gritty this time, nearly painful. "All right there, Cas?" 

"More," Castiel demanded, and Dean grinned, his slicked hand pulling up one of Castiel's thighs, encouraging him to wrap his legs around Dean's waist, then the hand curled under his ass, kneading curiously for a moment before slipping two fingers into the cleft. Castiel sucked in a tight breath, but Dean seemed more interested in exploring, his fingers rubbing down over sensitive skin, to toy playfully and carefully with the weight and feel of Castiel's balls, then back down, when Castiel whined, to press against his hole. 

"Eager," Dean murmured, as Castiel rolled his hips, blood buzzing with a nameless and constant _want_ , sweating into the sheets. 

"More," Castiel repeated, tugging at the ridges of Dean's wings, and Dean laughed, and pressed a finger into him, and it was strange, this, Castiel thought, as he frowned, and tried to adjust to the odd sensation within him, as Dean murmured something about cleaning him up. He had thought that it would hurt more. 

"Not yet," Dean said, as though he heard him, and there was a note of tenderness to his gruff voice, a tremor to his great wings. "And I won't let this hurt you. Heaven willing, nothing will hurt you again." 

It was a promise with the weight of inexorability behind it, like eternity wreathing tight, and Castiel's chest felt like it was tightening again, like he couldn't think, leaning up to bury his mouth against Dean's neck as a second finger pushed in, stretching him, and although he felt the slow yield of his own flesh, it didn't hurt. Whatever Dean was doing to him, it was working, and Castiel found himself relaxing the rest of the way, giving in, opening up to Dean, to what they were together, to what they would be. Feverishly, he mouthed kisses up to Dean's lips, and Dean obliged, kissing Castiel dazed over the pillows, stealing his breaths, whispering Castiel's name. 

The third finger didn't hurt, was barely noticed; lust was an unsteady secondary bass to this now, the edge of its thrill subsumed as Dean drowned him with an impossible tenderness. When Dean pressed into Castiel it was with wings heaving up against the sheets, a growled curse in some ancient tongue against Castiel's cheek, and this had to be unholy, this sense of fullness, the wet and obscene sound of their bodies slotting together loud around them, the ecstasy of it overwhelming, a clear and lucid chord struck from him that burned lust back into his blood. 

Dean probably felt it. Castiel felt the angel rumble something, pressed tight over him, then Dean reared up, wings heaving back, hands grasping for Castiel's hips, and he ground them together, carefully at first, until Castiel bucked impatiently against him, then harder, deep and slow, until he rubbed against something that seemed to set the thrumming burn of lust within Castiel into an agony of pleasure, like nothing that Castiel had ever felt, pinned under Dean and fucked into the bed. He barely noticed when he came a second time, but for Dean's startled laugh, the sharp-edged tenderness of the angel's grin, and then Dean was speeding up, not slowing, all bruising possessiveness, up until Castiel clawed up to Dean's wings, to sink his hands into the feathers at the root and _tug_ and then Dean was laughing, gasping, still grinding in as he pumped himself dry. If this was sin, Castiel thought, as Dean cradled him close, still grinning breathlessly, then let them sin. It was worth going back to Hell for. 

"It won't come to that, padre," Dean murmured, after he cleaned them both up and they lay together on the bed, Dean's wings stretched off the edge and over to the floor. 

"We'll see," Castiel said, though he smiled tentatively. "I haven't yet found God." 

"Jo said something about you guys maybe going back to basics. Going through the Book again." Dean shook his head slowly. "Man. I already told you. Near half the things in there, Bobby made up. Most of the rest, you guys made up." 

"But both Moses and Noah spoke to God," Castiel pointed out. "Didn't they?" 

"Nope," Dean yawned, and tugged Castiel closer. "'Sides, their stories ain't quite got the right bits in there either." 

Somehow, Castiel was now convinced that Dean was wrong. Somehow. He had reread the salient parts of the Book before he had slept, and had sensed a sort of... truth in it. Somewhere. Perhaps God had been subtle. Perhaps- 

"And anyway, padre," Dean added, nuzzling Castiel's forehead, "If you wanna run by that logic, in your Book, neither of them found God by running around looking for him." 

"Yes," Castiel said quietly, for he knew that to be true as well, now. "They didn't. God appeared to them instead. When it was time." He curled an arm over Dean's waist, and pressed his ear to Dean's chest. There was no heartbeat there, only a rumble, as Dean murmured something and curled a wing over them both. Soon, it would be time.


	9. Chapter 9

X.

Balthazar had smirked at Castiel when he had appeared late for breakfast, sheepish and trying to hide his limp. Anna had blushed and bent over the stove, loudly frying eggs and bacon, products of Balthazar’s previous supplies run, and Castiel had made himself a cup of coffee, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Should we be setting one more place at the table?” Balthazar asked innocently. 

“Shut _up_ , Balthazar,” Anna hissed from the stove, and scraped the skillet pointedly with a grating sound that made Castiel flinch. 

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Balthazar said cheerfully. “World’s ending. Best we all get what fun we can somewhere, yeah?” 

It was Castiel’s turn to flush. “I’ll… wait by the car. Take your time.” 

Balthazar sobered quickly. “Fuck, Cassy, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not making fun of you or anything.” 

“I know. I just… I need a walk.” Before Balthazar could object, Castiel hastily shuffled out of the room, heading out of the house, dodging piles of research books. Behind, he could hear Anna starting to snap at Balthazar, and Castiel grimaced, even as he got out of the house and sucked in a deep, grateful breath. 

It wasn’t Balthazar’s fault at all. Castiel simply still felt overwhelmed. He had woken up alone in bed, and but for the soreness, and for a few scattered, too-large feathers on the sheets, he might have thought it all a particularly complicated dream after all. 

Laboriously, Castiel made his way further out, towards the jetty, not even registering the warmth of the morning sun. As he was picking his way down the slope, he glanced sharply to his right at the thunder of wings, just in time to see Dean appear, head tilted, hands shoved into the pockets of his bomber jacket, wings out of sight. 

“Hey, padre.” Dean said, with a wry touch to his mouth. “Sorry I popped off. Ellen wanted a word.” 

“Oh… no of course.” Despite himself, Castiel could feel his mood lifting, drawn irresistibly towards Dean’s presence, the warmth of it, the joy. “Was it serious?” 

“Yeah. Everything’s serious right now.” Dean shrugged. “But it’s all right. Battened down the hatches. You all right?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said, and meant it, then he straightened up as Dean pressed a palm over his head. The stiffness and soreness faded, and Castiel dared to catch Dean’s wrist, turning it up to kiss the soft underside. Dean laughed, amused, and it was going to be a perfect morning after all, Castiel decided impulsively, this impossible gift of a moment of peace. 

They sat together at the small jetty, Castiel cross-legged on the old-warped wood, Dean with his legs stretched out over the edge, palms pressed behind him for balance. Their thighs were so close as to almost touch, and Castiel could feel the heat from Dean’s body, palpable in the crisp morning air, 

“Where are you guys going off to today?” Dean asked. 

“Don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “I’m leaving it to Anna. She’s been poring over different versions of the Bible.” 

“Jo said that she was having fun. She genuinely likes people, that one.” 

Castiel nodded. “She is very pleasant.” 

“‘Course,” Dean added, “Ellen - that’s Gabriel to you - thinks it’s all a waste of resources. But we’re not quite at the end yet.” 

“How close?” 

“Very soon,” Dean said delicately, and exhaled. “Cas. I guess. Thanks for trying.” 

Close to the end. They had failed, then. Or they were about to fail. “Thanks for being here.” 

“Hey,” Dean curled an arm around the small of Castiel’s back. “I got no choice there.” 

“When… when do you need your…” 

“Not yet,” Dean said, before Castiel could voice the rest, his mind full of the memory of that egg-shaped room, the bone-wreathed swords. “Some time yet.” Lips brushed Castiel’s hair, and he leaned into Dean’s grasp, closing his eyes. It seemed profoundly unfair, for a moment, that Castiel would only come to know intimacy like this at the precipice of the end of the world. 

Though then again - better this, a few moments like this, than a lifetime spent never knowing it at all. Never meeting Dean. As that certainty settled into place, Castiel felt a rush of warmth for the angel curled against him, of unshakeable affection, of trust, and more, of pity. For Dean did have no choice to it all, his role unending, cruel, even, an eternal task that he had to fail, over and over again. 

Fingers tightened over Castiel’s hips, as though Dean had heard, but he said nothing, up until he heard the faint sound of Anna calling for him, back at the house. “I should go.” 

“Yeah.” Dean dropped his hand. “Go on, padre. Make the world a little brighter.” 

“I don’t think that’s what we’re setting out to do today,” Castiel said, though he got to his feet with a little smile. Hesitantly, he added, “Can I… see you again? Tonight?” 

Dean laughed, just as Castiel was beginning to regret his boldness. “Sure thing, Cas. You know how to get me.” 

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded and set back out over the jetty, and as he turned around at the foot of the slope, Dean was gone. Swallowing a sigh, Castiel headed briskly back to the house, where Balthazar and Anna were standing by the car, Balthazar shame-faced, Anna relieved. 

“Oh, thank Christ,” Balthazar exhaled. “Didn’t know where you ran off to. Gave me a bloody heart attack, you did!” 

“Sorry. Dean wanted to take a walk.” 

“Oh, he did, did he?” Balthazar grumbled, and yelped as Anna elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

“Well uh. Jo said to page her when we’ve decided where to go. I’ve got some ideas,” Anna said, as she spread a map out over the bumper of the car. “Picking up some calls from the police radio too. Your choice.” 

“Is Jo willing to fly us over to the Seals that need reinforcements?” 

“She probably is,” Balthazar pulled a face, “But Anna and I will be fucking useless to you if it comes to a post-teleportation throwdown, just saying.” 

“All right,” Castiel decided. “Let’s look at our options.”

XI.

The days crawled past, and it felt as though even Jo was getting impatient for progress, the angel quite often now popping off during trips and only returning whenever paged. Exhaustion was starting to take its toll on his team: back in the Sioux Falls house, Anna usually said not a word, buried in the books, while Balthazar pottered around, often cursing under his breath.

Castiel volunteered to go on a supply run, after one fruitless day hopping around the eastern seaboard, one failure after another, and neither Balthazar nor Anna raised any word of comment. As he drove off out towards the nearest town, Castiel heaved out a sigh of frustration, and slammed the flat of his palm briefly against the wheel. They were getting nowhere. 

And worse. The seals had been falling one by one, worldwide. It was a wonder that Lucifer’s creatures had actually been delayed this long, on hindsight. Sixty-six seals were very few, in the eyes of the entirety of the world. Balthazar had heard that His Holiness had somehow managed to coordinate cooperation between all the hunter organisations of the world, and the amateurs, but even that was not enough, and the death toll was immense. Terror soaked through even the local news, newscasters pale and frightened as they reported on one disaster after another, and not even the most cynical and jaded of reporters still harboured much doubt that apocalypse had come. The evidence of it was everywhere now. 

Castiel supposed grimly that at least he wouldn’t live through the rest of it. He would become the key to the world’s renewal, and the start of a new cycle. God willing, with that Castiel had to be content. 

The town that sat on the freeway closest to the Sioux Falls house was a little one, built off the backs of a tourist trade that had since dried up thanks to the end of the world, and most of the shops and houses were shuttered, the windows barred. The few people he passed watched him warily, guns worn openly at their hips, though thankfully, most relaxed when they saw his clerical collar. 

He got out from the car at the town’s only open grocer. The shelves were mostly bare, but when he walked into the grocer, the worn-looking old woman behind the counter brightened up, looked around, then bustled into the backroom, returning with a box. Canned goods, frozen food, even long life milk - she pushed it all into Castiel’s hands, and shook her head when he tried to pay. 

“No use for that in the end of days,” the old woman said, with a tired smile. “Just put a kind word in for me in your prayers, Father.” 

Somewhat guiltily, Castiel thanked her and left, and stowed the box in the back seat of the car. As he circled around to the front, he stopped dead - leaning a hip against the door to the driver’s seat was a grizzled, broad-shouldered man, with several days’ worth of beard growth over his jowls and broad jaw, wearing a checkered blue shirt tucked into dusty gray jeans. He smiled, and there was something unsettling about his eyes, something far too _old_ about them, too _knowing_. 

Castiel’s hand had jumped for the stock of his pistol, but then the man smiled thinly, and folded his thick arms over his chest. “Hold up there, padre,” he said, in a voice like an echo of the earth, like the rhythm of the wind, from everywhere and everything at once, and suddenly, Castiel _knew_. 

He would have knelt right there and then, in the dust of the street, but Castiel found himself stumbling over to walk meekly beside the man who was not a man, instead, as they strolled down the street. There was a particular madness to this, Castiel thought blindly, and he tried to speak Dean’s name, to call the angel down, but his Creator shot him an pointed glance instead, and Castiel dropped his eyes, flinching. 

Of all places, they walked into the bar. It was closed, but the locked door opened under one broad-fingered palm, and they walked past upturned tables and neatly stacked chairs, heading to the bar stools at the walnut-wood bar. Big fingers cupped over the table, and abruptly, there were two glasses of whisky and a bottle of it, and Castiel found himself watching dumbly as God poured them both a measure, his movements smooth and practiced. 

“So,” said God, as he leaned his back against the counter and gestured with his glass. “Hear you’re looking for me.” 

“I’ve… spoken to you before, haven’t I?” Castiel stumbled a little. “Your, uh. Your-“ 

“Leave off the formalities,” God said absently. “Don’t like to hear it, never have. What d’you want to talk about, then?” 

“What did I ask you before?” 

“Same old, each time,” God smiled faintly. “Stop the apocalypse. Save people. Think Noah even asked for world peace. He got it. Just not in the way he was looking for.” 

“I suppose what I want to ask is… why? Why all this?” Castiel gestured blindly. “Why so much suffering? Why do it _three times_?” 

“You humans,” God said regretfully. “I made a mistake there, I think. Not your fault, ‘course. You went from one species out of many, part of a very careful bit of balancing work, I should add, one cog in an interlaced ecosystem - to the one species that the world wouldn’t miss when it’s gone. Worse, you guys have this natural tendency to shit in your bed and lie in it.” 

Castiel grimaced, but stubbornly stuck to his question. “Why three times?” 

“You seem to be under the impression that the apocalypse is time based, or random. It ain’t.” God said soberly. “Like I said. This world’s made up of a great deal of balancing work. Some bits that you guys can see, even with your limited vision. Some bits only the angels can see. And some bits, only I can see. Whenever something comes close to upsetting the boat, the failsafe kicks in. Slate gets wiped clean. Back to the start.” 

“So…” Castiel said slowly, blinking, “The apocalypse happened because of… _climate change_?” 

“Kinda. It’s kinder this way. Safer too. You guys are destroying the world. Again. This time, way faster, and more completely. You know how many other species go extinct every single day ‘cos of you guys? ‘Bout _two hundred_. You guys ain’t just rocking the boat, you’re kicking holes in the side. As it is, the failsafe probably should’a kicked in sooner. Michael and friends are gonna have a bitch of a time patching up the world during the downtime.” 

“I…” Castiel trailed off. It did, in a way, make an uncomfortable amount of sense. “What did the people in Moses’ and Noah’s time do?” 

“Mm. Necromancy was one. Wild magic was the other one. ‘Course, that ain’t in your book. Things got pretty hairy before the flood. Messy, too. Each time, during the downtime, it gave the angels the breathing space to patch the bad code out of the world.” God patted the countertop. “This time round, it’s gonna take a hell lot of doing. Way I see it, the last seal can’t break quickly enough.” 

“Why go to so much _trouble_ , then?” Castiel persisted. “It all seems so unnecessarily complicated. Um. No offense.” 

“Because - and this is why I didn’t just arrange for Michael and the rest to simply erase humanity during the first cycle… you guys might not be key to the biosphere. But this world was made to be balanced by a separate power.” 

“Souls.” Castiel supplied quietly. 

“Yeah. Bit of a design mistake there.” God shrugged. “But fact is. It’s been millennia. And there’s no power source quite like it. Can’t have a world gain real traction without a powered balancing act. And the extra belief I get from an end-cycle event like this helps power up other projects. Other worlds,” God explained, when Castiel started to look even more puzzled. “So.” 

“So,” Castiel said numbly. “It’s hopeless, then.” 

“I couldn’t say that.” God said gently. 

“Why do you even bother talking to me, then?” 

“Normally, I have to provide the last little push for you to give yourself over to Michael. This time round, I didn’t. But call it curiosity,” God admitted. “And habit, perhaps.” 

“There’s something else to it,” Castiel guessed. “The way I saw it from Noah’s books, he would’ve given himself over to Dean in a shot, if Dean had but asked. He was proud to be a tool of Heaven.” 

“Yeah.” God said finally. “There’s one more thing to it. That last seal? You’ve got to break it. You personally.” 

“I-what?” Castiel choked out a startled laugh. “If then - why would I?” 

“You have before,” God pointed out seriously. “Twice.” 

“If that’s the last seal on Lucifer’s cage-“ 

“You leave it as things are now, and they’ll just keep getting worse. The Gates of Hell are open on earth, the system’s recalibrating. Gonna be a lot of damnation and suffering until it’s all locked back down again. And if you leave it for too long, you might do irrevocable damage to the ecosystem. As of right now, the apocalypse system isn't actually affecting that much of the biosphere.” 

“But you can stop the apocalypse, can’t you?” 

“I’m a creator,” God said, and perhaps there was a touch of wry sadness there. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to just _make_ anyone do what I wanted. Look at your book. The only thing I can really actually do is _instruct_. All of you have freedom of choice. That’s the whole point of it all. I can no further interfere with the cycle now than I can cause you to give up your path.” 

And that was the tragedy and the miracle both of existence, Castiel realized. God was no agent of change. He was but the architect of Creation. To God, the future was a closed book, as were people, demons, even His own angels. 

But He was still an architect. 

"Can't you undo the failsafe?" Castiel asked nervously. "Make this the last cycle?" 

"All that'll do, padre, is that the next time you guys fuck it up, it'll be game over. Not just for your species, but for all species. _All_ life on this rock. You want that?" 

"Your angels control one of the most powerful religions on earth. We could put the word out. Push for change. Police ourselves." 

"'My' angels control nothing," God corrected. "This 'powerful religion' is itself splintered with corruption, factions and infighting. So much of it is full of hatred. Just like many other 'powerful' religions. It's human nature, unfortunately." 

"Then there's no hope." 

"Not for this cycle, I think." God said quietly. "But for the next - there's always hope. Eventually, there will be one iteration of people with enough self-awareness and consciousness to keep the world in balance. Take comfort in that, if you like." 

That was no comfort at all. But Castiel could say nothing more, hands clenched tightly over his whisky glass, as God smiled at him, drank, and lifted the empty glass to him in a wry sort of farewell, and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aand one more ---- (Not all readers get a double chapter update notif. Click on!)


	10. Chapter 10

Balthazar.

"Well, that's simple then," Balthazar said, blinking. "You just... don't trigger the last seal. Whatever it is. Ask your angel friends about it."

"But the world goes down in flames," Anna concluded. "Because things just get worse and worse." 

"Sounds to me like we have a choice between flames and more flames," Balthazar shrugged, as Castiel sat on the couch, head in his hands. "Not much of a choice there." 

"I'm not saying that either is necessarily the better choice," Anna pointed out. "Just that one is far worse." 

"Not yet." Balthazar pointed out. "So far everyone's working together, yeah? Maybe we still have time to turn this shit around. If we point out to the Gabriel Cardinal that the end of the world is 'cos of hah, climate change and all that, maybe-" 

"I think he most likely will think we've completely lost it," Anna cut in. "And if he actually believes us - that's a big if - he'll still have to convince His Holiness. And that's another if. And who's to know whether His Holiness will even be able to convince everyone else in the world to get their shit together? Climate change has been kinda the biggest global problem of the century. Not a lot of people actually genuinely gave enough of a damn to do anything concrete about it." 

"Some of us were demonslaying," Balthazar muttered, though he exhaled. "So we're fucked. Funny thing is, I like the irony. We fucked our world over hard enough that we broke the emergency glass. And then we tried band-aiding it over ever since, but it's too late. And all this while, we thought maybe it was just 'cos God was a dick. But really it was all on us, all this while." 

"Everyone just thinks that it's too big a problem for them to contribute anything useful," Castiel murmured, and sighed. "Putting that aside. What do we do _now_?" 

"I guess your angel was right after all," Balthazar shrugged. "You stay in the Sioux Falls house and don't come out until we figure out a way to get out of this mess. Don't want to chance you accidentally breaking the final seal. Whatever it is. Surely that's something actually difficult. Rather than something like you, say, forgetting to brush your teeth in the morning." 

Castiel grimaced. "I'll ask Dean." 

"And in the meantime," Balthazar added, "I guess I'll have to bite the bullet and go talk to the Gabriel." 

"Really?" Anna frowned at him. "Is that wise?" 

"We can't do this alone, Anna. I don't intend to talk to him face to face. But it'll be best if at least our home base knows what we're up to. Even if they don't believe us." 

"All right," Castiel said dubiously. "Good luck." 

"Good luck," Anna echoed, and Balthazar nodded to them both. 

"I'll drive out somewhere to make the call."

Dean.

Ellen found Dean standing on the edge of the Unbound, on the border of Unmaking, between the void where nothing existed and the Silver City. His wings were folded close, his hands shoved in his pockets, his thoughts gloomy, and Dean didn't bother looking up as she landed beside him.

Gray wings clipped close, then extended outwards in a gesture of comfort, as Ellen smiled gently at Dean. Her avatar in human-shaped form was a kindly-looking woman, nut brown hair combed back in thick waves, spidering laugh lines etched into her skin, dressed in a gray coat and a black blouse and jeans. "Hey." 

"Hey," Dean echoed quietly. 

"Getting to that time again, ain't it?" 

"Yeah." Dean's mood always grew darker and darker as the time came to break the last seal. "He asked me what it would take. To break the seal." 

"Did you tell him the truth?" 

"I always have." 

Ellen nodded slowly. The last seal was Lilith's death, either by Castiel's hand or in his presence - that much Dean hadn't entirely been sure of: but for the truth of it coded into his very being, Dean would have thought differently of the arrangement. For both times before this, the Righteous Man had given himself over fully to become the Michael Sword: Dean had been the one to cast Lilith back into the cycle, to stand ready and await his brother's ascendance, to go to war and chain him back down. Each time, Dean but grew more tired. 

"What did he say this time?" Ellen prompted. 

"Nothing." Dean said quietly. "That's normal too. He's the one who has to make the decision. I think the humans are still trying out some last minute measures." 

"They'll fail," Ellen predicted. "Jo said that something happened to Castiel. A few days ago, when he went to get provisions in the town close to your house. She was keeping an eye on him. But he disappeared for a moment from her sight. She was about to panic and call you in when he reappeared. She couldn't read his mind." 

"Yeah." Dean had found that much out himself, and Castiel had stubbornly remained silent when Dean had asked him what had happened. Thinking back over the last week, Dean had a fairly good idea of what possibly _had_ happened. "I figured." 

"Do you think he..." Ellen trailed off. "Moses and Noah apparently met our Father. Bobby has no idea how those lines got into the Book. He'll swear blind." 

"Think he did." Dean said soberly. "Looks like it didn't take." 

"Damn." Ellen clenched her fists tight. "Every _time_." 

Dean nodded. "Time to start the last of our prep, I think. Storm's coming." 

"We've tried our best. Again." 

"It's never enough." Dean said tiredly, then he unfurled his wings. He had boundaries to check, and a war to prepare for.

Anna.

"Some say the world will end in fire," the Gabriel Cardinal quoted cheerfully, "Some say in ice."

"That's from what, that telly show-" Balthazar began, but Gabriel wrinkled his nose. 

" _Robert Frost_ , you philistine." Anna hid a smile, but not quickly enough - Gabriel sniffed. "And you, little sis. Haven't you gotten into _enough_ trouble?" 

"Don't pull that family shit on me," Anna muttered, her good faith fading fast, and Gabriel hastily held up his hands. 

"Whoa, whoa. Don't get pissy on me. You guys wanted to talk? Talk." 

Anna glanced back over her shoulder. They were sitting in a park, the swings and slides in the children's section abandoned, probably for days. The town they were in was absolutely, eerily empty, everyone plucked away in a single moment as though erased out of existence. The only people in the town right now wore clerical collars: Huntsmen, combing for clues. 

"Looks like demons are still breaking the seals." Balthazar nodded at the town. 

"Well obviously. Matter of the last seal seems to be a secret of sorts. So obviously Lucifer's army is just gonna keep doing shit like this until they've run through all the other seals." 

"How deep are we in the red?" Anna asked quietly. 

"'Bout thirty different incidents, give or take. Most of them in the US of A." 

"The body count?" 

"Don't think you need to know that bit," Gabriel said, his tone fractionally softening. 

"I see His Holiness tried the climate change spiel," Balthazar added. "Thanks?" 

"Too little, too late," Gabriel noted soberly. "The Cardinals are debating the problem now." 

"What problem?" 

"Whether they let matters trundle along, chaos everywhere, the world catching fire and all. Or ask Castiel to make his final choice-" 

"What." Anna scowled. 

"Hey," Gabriel's palms shot up again. "Not my call." 

"What _is_ your call, then?" 

"Call me a selfish asshole," Gabriel drawled, "But I kinda want to keep having a shot at averting the apocalypse. There's got to be a solution out there. Somewhere." 

"OK. Well then uh. Keep us posted," Balthazar said uncomfortably. "That's kinda all we wanted to say." 

"Since you guys butted in on our investigation," Anna murmured, though there wasn't any heat to her voice. Anna and Balthazar had arrived in a town that was already empty. 

"Keep this up long enough," Gabriel added thoughtfully, "And maybe there'll be no real difference between averting it or not, anyway. Not to me. Society's already breaking down around the edges. Lots of the big cities are under curfew. Looting, rioting, no more police force, the works. Funny thing," he added, with a sharp smile. "It only took no time at all for the world to go to pieces." 

"Actually it took years," Anna pointed out. "We just didn't know it." 

"I'm not sure whether what you've said is more depressing or whether what I think is more depressing. But either way. Good luck on your end," Gabriel clapped Balthazar on the shoulder, then gingerly shook Anna's hand. "And we'll try on ours. Kali said she had a lead." 

"There's only one sort of help that Kali and friends tend to give out," Balthazar narrowed his eyes. "Did you tell her about the last seal?" 

"Yeah," Gabriel said loftily, but just in case, Anna and Balthazar were extra careful on their way out and back to Sioux Falls. 

"Too little, too late," Balthazar mused, echoing Gabriel's words. 

"I don't believe that," Anna retorted, and clenched her hands tightly on the wheel.

Castiel.

On the last day before Castiel was to choose, Dean swept them both away, to a white spit of sand on some sort of bank of coral, surrounded by endless sea, the sun a warm presence on his back. Below, in all directions, brilliantly jewel-coloured fish darted in bright washes of colour over the coral, the water crystal clear, the world an endless arc of sky and sea.

"Beautiful," Castiel whispered, turning slowly around. Dean was watching the fish, his wings stretched out in the sun, and his face was pensive. Tired. 

"Yeah. I like it here. Nice and quiet." 

"Thank you for showing it to me." 

"Not the first time," Dean murmured, then his jaw clenched, and he stepped over, to pull Castiel into his arms. "You could wait," he said softly. "Day or so more, it won't matter." 

"I could wait," Castiel agreed, curling his arms around the small of Dean's back. "But I don't know if it won't matter." 

"Your friends have been working on an impressive number of contingency plans." 

"It's human to hope." Castiel said, and smiled against Dean's leather jacket. They kissed, more tentatively than before, with a slow and careful cadence, of impressed memories onto flesh rather than the bitterness of regrets. 

"I've got an idea," Dean murmured, against Castiel's cheek. "I could wait until the last minute to forge my sword. Maybe... maybe there's a way to put Lucifer back into the cage without resorting to an all out war. Maybe there's something else we could do." 

"And while we try," Castiel retorted, "What will that do to the world?" 

"Nothing worse than what will happen even if we move forward to Plan B," Dean said, his voice shaky, and this time, when Castiel kissed him, he tasted salt. 

"And what will happen," Castiel said softly, "If Lucifer were to kill you, because you had no sword?" 

"He can't do that fresh out of the cage." 

"But he will get stronger." 

"Aye." Dean's arms tightened around Castiel. "It's just a thought." 

Castiel closed his eyes, and rested his cheek on Dean's shoulder. Wings closed around them both, in a soft cocoon of midnight feathers, and Dean shuddered as Castiel inched fingers up, to bury his hands in a fragment of Creation that was not for the mortal world, not for human touch. A miracle. 

And Castiel had faith still. 

It was, after all, human to hope. 

"All right," Castiel said finally, and pressed a kiss to Dean's jaw, then to his neck, breathing in. "Let's go get Lilith." 

"And after that?" 

"We'll take it a step at a time." Castiel promised, and closed his eyes, waiting for flight.

**Author's Note:**

> In the end, I didn't feel like rehashing everything. Since I've already more or less done that in Exceptional Circumstances... ^^;; Whether Team Love and Peace and Feathers manage to do minimum collateral damage or not, I'll leave it up to the reader. 
> 
> In semi-related matters, I don't believe that it's too late to turn things around. And I think every little bit helps. :) Getting involved is easy: whether it's volunteering, or watching your global footprint, or taking part in stuff like [[OpenIDEO](http://openideo.com)], or small donations to WWF, Sea Shepherd, Rainforest Trust etc. If you've liked this fic, I hope you check out one of those peeps. ♥ Thanks for reading! 
> 
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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